Shadows of Existence

August sixth, nineteen forty five. A flash brighter than the sun erased an entire city in

seconds. But on the walls, something stayed behind. The shadows of people

who had been standing there just a moment before. Those shadows weren't art.

They were the final proof that someone existed. People caught mid motion,

frozen by light so intense it burned their presence into stone forever. A man sitting on

bank steps. A woman reaching for her child. Ordinary people doing ordinary things,

unaware their last second had already passed. Every time I think about those shadows,

I remember that life ends quietly. Not always with warning or drama or closure.