A cigarette was lit in the cold, dark room. The hot red end being the only source of light in the empty room, a snowflake of fire.
The night had been surprisingly silent. No blowing canons, no sounds perforating the tympanic membranes, the night sky the colour of black like it was supposed to be. Not of the colour of fire. For a change.

Somehow the silence is worse than the blasting canons, she thought. The silence carried with it the anticipation, the anxiety, as to what was to come next.

She sucked on the cigarette, the end burning redder. She inhaled, a deep breath. Exhaled.

Where was everyone?