She heard that awful sound. And she begged her father not to go.
“no...you can’t go...please.”
He stood there. Torn between the tears that were streaming down his thirteen year old daughter’s face and the siren that cut through the air.
She continued to sob and yell hysterically as she held on to him. “Close the door Ma. Don’t let him go.”
Her mother stood there helpless. She had been through a war before.
Her father gently pulled away from her. She clung to his waist.
The sirens continued to pierce through the evening gloom. Yet the streets were silent. All windows covered with black paper. No electricity. Still, humid October heat. Like the world had come to an end.
He kissed her on her head. “Baby, I promise I’ll be back. You look after your mother okay.”
And before she could tighten her grip, he was gone. Out of the door.
That awful sound grew louder in her ears. Planes, lots of them, low and loud. Not the comforting ones she heard every morning and evening. These were angry and low. Very low. And then the sound of bombs. Exploding. Fire. Deafening.
She woke up. Drenched in a feverish sweat. The bed was burning.
Outside, there was a storm brewing. Clothes flapped hysterically on the line. Loud claps of thunder echoed across her room.
That’s when she popped a crocin and danced around the room. It was only a bloody dream.