Port-au-Prince was originally a city of despair, but now, after the baptism of bombings, only crows remain standing on the ruins, cawing, their eyes watching the surroundings, chilling to the bone.
The sky was stained with a yellow and gray-black meld of smoke, heavy as if it might press down directly, and the shattered remains of buildings lay scattered like toppled blocks. The once towering buildings were left only with charred frameworks, steel bars exposed like grotesque skeletons, precariously leaning.
The walls were full of huge gaps from explosions, rubble and bricks covered the ground, each step made a heartbreaking crunch.
The fire continued to burn in the corners of the ruins, greedily consuming everything that could burn. The flames twisted and jumped in the wind, crackling, like demons laughing crazily.
Thick smoke roiled up from the fires, blotting out the sun, emitting a pungent scorched smell, making breathing difficult, eyes tearing up from the irritating smoke.
