She hunkers down, clutching her children near as the missiles strike in the distance: first one, then another, a little closer. She gave up running for the shelters long ago – there’s too little warning now and there are drones overhead picking them off. Naturally, there are no military personnel nearby; she and her neighbours are the targets.
She has no idea if the children’s father is alive or dead.
It’s Good Friday. She says a little prayer. He dug himself out of His hole in 48 hours. Let’s see Him get out of this one that quick, she thinks wryly.
She has no idea if the children’s father is alive or dead.
It’s Good Friday. She says a little prayer. He dug himself out of His hole in 48 hours. Let’s see Him get out of this one that quick, she thinks wryly.
