A broken vase. Withered Flowers.

Little hope, small wishes, eager eyes and a dirty doll to cling onto; that was all she had with her. She smelt dust, and could see very little. She could hear faint noises of people screaming and the sound of machines and tough men. She couldn’t tell if it was night or day. She tried hard to recall, her thoughts refused to spin past the last mug of milk that she drank the previous night. She remembered she wore a pretty pink frock, but she could hardly recognize it anymore. It looked more of black with patches of visible pink.

* * *

Closing her eyes, she went back to her tidy room.

The curtains, the breeze, the warmth of her bedspread and the small streak of light from her table lamp seemed to bring back hope. She hugged her soft toy close and cuddled herself to a comfortable curve. Smiling at her dreams she left the world of reality.

* * *

‘Aargh’ She screamed out. Something scratched her back hard and suddenly there was blinding light. She could hear clearly, she smelt some fresh air, she understood very little. There were mobs of men, women and children speaking simultaneously. There was nothing but chaos all around. She was helped out of those layers of debris.

Holding tight to the doll on her left, she tugged at the man who held her by her lil finger. ‘Where is my mother?’, she asked him.

Little hope, small wishes, eager eyes and a dirty doll to cling onto; that was all she had with her.

* * *