A woman in the street drags a sleepy toddler by the hand and talks on the phone. “I think it’s time, but I don’t want to leave.” The next morning, a missile leaves a crater in the asphalt, where she spoke.
What are they doing here? In the ghost town of rusty cars, broken roads, of shredded high rises with elevator cables dangling in the drafts like guts of a dead dragon. They huddle in the cellars and say that their parents are “there”, dab at the bricks with twigs and glance at the black smoke rising over the horizon.
A woman in the street drags a sleepy toddler by the hand and talks on the phone. “I think it’s time, but I don’t want to leave.” The next morning, a missile leaves a crater in the asphalt, where she spoke.
2 Comments
Christa Loughrey
15/4/2024 04:36:56 pm
It is terrible enough to think of the grown ups caught up in this dreadful situation, but when the victims are children, it is unbearable. As other wars take over in the news bulletins, you ensure that none of us forget what is happening in your own dear country. We are still right behind you, Malvina.
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Paul A. Freeman
18/4/2024 12:32:10 am
It's when this all becomes normalised that we need to worry.
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