Written on May 1, 2015
Seattle stood in the middle of the street, hands nearly ripping out clumps of her black hair, watching her city burn in front of her eyes, wetted not just by the smoke. Everything around her was a flurry of motion, people working to put out the relentless fires. She felt sick- not just figuratively, but literally sick. She swayed and dropped to her knees. Between her lightheadedness and the relative darkness of the night, brightened only by the flames, she could see very little of what was happening around her. A flash of white light informed her that a picture was taken (probably for the Seattle Times) just before she blacked out completely.
It wasn’t until the city itself had recovered that Seattle was completely healthy again. She still retained a bit of a burn scar, which decided to situate itself just below her ribs on the left side of her waist. She still wears it with pride as a reminder of what remains as the Seattle Underground.
It wasn’t until the city itself had recovered that Seattle was completely healthy again. She still retained a bit of a burn scar, which decided to situate itself just below her ribs on the left side of her waist. She still wears it with pride as a reminder of what remains as the Seattle Underground.