The Narrator
Ungovernable terror gripped me
I gripped my wife’s arm
Holding my breath until movement was agony
With one last touch of humanity I turned the blade back and stuck him with the butt
I had still kept a vague hope
It may be that the destruction of the Martians is only a reprieve
The Artilleryman
I drew him
Began to sob and weep like a little boy
Followed me, almost mechanically
Birds have shadows these days
The useless and mischievous deserve to die
Strange, undisciplined dreamer of great dreams
The Curate
His face was a fair weakness
They are invulnerable! They are pitiless!
‘Be a man’ said I
Woe! Woe! Woe!
A man insane
Frothy repentance for his vacant sham of gods service
The Martians
Pressure of necessity has brightened their intellects
Heaved and puled convulsively
Invincible, inevitable sword of heat
Brains wearing different bodies according to their needs
swift, complex, and perfect
Doomed, dying and rotten
Fear
Ungovernable terror gripped me
They are invulnerable! They are pitiless!
Began to sob and weep like a little boy
Stirring, slipping, running, pouring en masse
The fear and empire of man had passed away
Would rather die than trust herself friendless in a foreign country
Societal Collapse
It was no time for pugilistic chivalry
The pinnacle of the mosque vanished
Some gnawed at their hands in thirst
The useless and mischievous deserve to die
Nations, civilisation, progress, its all over
Woking station was still under-going repairs