Война миров

           DimandwonderfulisthevisionIhaveconjuredupinmymindoflifespreadingslowlyfromthislittleseedbedofthesolarsystemthroughouttheinanimatevastnessofsiderealspace. Butthatisaremotedream. Itmaybe,ontheotherhand,thatthedestructionoftheMartiansisonlyareprieve. Tothem,andnottous,perhaps,isthefutureordained. 

           Imustconfessthestressanddangerofthetimehaveleftanabidingsenseofdoubtandinsecurityinmymind. Isitinmystudywritingbylamplight,andsuddenlyIseeagainthehealingvalleybelowsetwithwrithingflames,andfeelthehousebehindandaboutmeemptyanddesolate. IgooutintotheByfleetRoad,andvehiclespassme,abutcherboyinacart,acabfulofvisitors,aworkmanonabicycle,childrengoingtoschool,andsuddenlytheybecomevagueandunreal,andIhurryagainwiththeartillerymanthroughthehot,broodingsilence. OfanightIseetheblackpowderdarkeningthesilentstreets,andthecontortedbodiesshroudedinthatlayer; theyriseuponmetatteredanddog-bitten. Theygibberandgrowfiercer,paler,uglier,maddistortionsofhumanityatlast,andIwake,coldandwretched,inthedarknessofthenight. 

           IgotoLondonandseethebusymultitudesinFleetStreetandtheStrand,anditcomesacrossmymindthattheyarebuttheghostsofthepast,hauntingthestreetsthatIhaveseensilentandwretched, goingtoandfro,phantasmsinadeadcity,themockeryoflifeinagalvanisedbody. Andstrange,too,itistostandonPrimroseHill,asIdidbutadaybeforewritingthislastchapter,toseethegreatprovinceofhouses,dimandbluethroughthehazeofthesmokeandmist,vanishingatlastintothevaguelowersky,toseethepeoplewalkingtoandfroamongtheflowerbedsonthehill, toseethesight-seersabouttheMartianmachinethatstandstherestill, tohearthetumultofplayingchildren,andtorecallthetimewhenIsawitallbrightandclear-cut,hardandsilent,underthedawnofthatlastgreatday....