I like this a lot. Good imagery, foiling, and conclusion. I'm a bit fixated on "terminally pretty" and the depth that brings to the story.He closed his eyes as he stood in front of the old bar. Even though it had been closed for months now, he could still almost see himself through the smoke stained glass. He was younger then, when he met her. The alcohol didn't dull his memories of that night; the soft rustle of leather as he turned to look as the door swung open, the smell of the spring air vivid against the smell of cheap beer and cigarettes. Then she walked in. Terminally pretty, that was his first thought.
There was a tap on his shoulder. The demolition crew was ready. He opened his eyes as he crushed his smoke under his heel, turning to leave without a word. He had always been told that we live forever through memory. But memories are dead things.
Nice! A lot of potential with this subject material, both as a juxtapositioned concepts for creation and destruction, but also a symbol of pivot as a swords-into-plowshares sense. Also, there is the cyclical view that creation and destruction really are just two sides of the same coin; from death, comes life.He considered the differences between creation and destruction as he raised the hammer.
The acrid smoke of the burning village filled his nostrils as the glow from the thatched roofs stood in for the setted sun. He gripped his hammer tighter; mourning will have to wait.