Day 1594
Durable until Tuesday
Vonnegut’s answer to trauma was to abandon linear narration. In Slaughterhouse-Five, Billy Pilgrim becomes unstuck in time because chronology can no longer contain Dresden. “So it goes” is less a catchphrase than emotional flatline: the only response left when horror has exhausted description.
Welcome to Vyshneve.
Houses burned to their foundations. So it goes.
Entire micro-districts treated simultaneously as crime scenes and cemeteries, pending confirmation of which. So it goes.
Six hundred evacuated. Fifty more by armored transport because the roads themselves had become targets. Five hundred relocated “temporarily,” a word that now means only later. So it goes.
The detonations continue at irregular intervals, as though the war has forgotten to turn itself off. Officials promise replacement passports within days—an admirable administrative reflex applied to a settlement with too few intact buildings left to issue them. So it goes.
This is not damage. Damage im…
