Sighing and martyred I lift it, we begin to walk down our street.
Crump. Thump. Bang. BANG.
Nervous and jittery we both turn around. Dust billows and I hear shouts. The blue sky above pales and turns grey.
Mum ushers me along. There’s a crowd gathering –they’ve all got misshapen, bulky bags of possessions.
Homs; our beloved home, familiar but forbidding now. Where we’re going we can’t guess.
Syria – what happened?