The tiny house was simple with dirt floors and a centrally located stove used both for cooking and warmth. This day was cold, so she put another log in the fire and pulled a ragged blanket over her sleeping brother. As she gazed down upon him a tear fell from her eyes as she imagined the life ahead of him, ahead of all of them. Her mother came in from the cold morning carrying a bag that she imagined was food of some kind, maybe some milk? It had been months since they had any, but all her mother could find on this day were some almost rotten potatoes and a can with no label. She shook the can wondering what it could be?
As her mother went about the business of trying to create a meal she wondered about her father who had left yesterday and had yet to return. She remembered hearing them talk last night in whispers, so she and her brother couldn’t hear but she had a pretty good idea what it was about as she lay in her bed weeping softly. When the meal was ready she woke her brother, who looked like he had aged a lot in just one night. They sat with their mother and gave thanks for the meal and the family gathered today. They prayed for the safe return of their father who they all hoped would walk in right now and join them for this meal.
Two weeks passed and on a Saturday afternoon, her father walked in the door holding two bags of goods and carrying a rifle. He set the rifle down and put the bags on the table where her mother began to unpack and smile at their good fortune. She held her father close as he stroked her long hair and whispered everything was going to be all right. She didn’t believe him, but it was good, and it was comforting to hear his words. They ate like kings that night, some bacon and fresh eggs and biscuits like only her mother could make. When dinner was through her father reached into his jacket pocket and came out with two red suckers, one for her and the other for her brother. This had been the best day she could remember in a very long time.
She and her brother took small licks of their suckers and then wrapped them up to save for another time. She figured they would last a good three weeks. Her father left again late one-night bending over to kiss her cheek and stroke her brothers close-cropped hair. He left without notice and to a place she knew meant he may not return. When sleep came it seemed like only seconds had passed when she heard the sound of a mortar hitting the building just to the left of their house. Rocks the size of melons hit their house dirt and dust coming in their windows making them cough and gag. Quickly she covered her brothers and mothers faces with a sheet then covered her own waiting for the noises and the dust and the fear to leave.
Seven months have now gone by and the fighting and chaos continued outside her door that she hadn’t been allowed to leave through for time unknown. It was at the first of the next month word came to them that the war was over, and people were starting to come back to their town, but little did they know their town wasn’t here anymore. Just a few standing buildings like theirs but most were reduced to rubble. Any personal belongings they had left behind were either stolen or blown to pieces. She realized this as she stood outside for the first time in what seemed an eternity.
She held her brother close as the residence of the town made their way back. The lines of people stretched as far as she could see some holding small children others being carried with wounds from the bombs and mortars. She heard screams of agony and joyous prayer as reactions were as different as the people themselves. There were familiar faces who passed by and would try to smile but it was as if all their happiness was blown away with the dust of explosions. They stood there for a long time watching as one family after another saw what remained of their once happy homes, now a pile of rubble and shattered dreams. They said they will rebuild that they were home again and their strength in numbers would see them through.
Their father wasn’t in the crowd of those returning home and she openly wept knowing he was never going to return. Just then her brother tugged at her skirts and pointed down the road where a man with a rifle for a crutch walked slowly into town. She rushed to his side and took his arm and wrapped it around her. His face was covered in dried blood, his clothes torn and singed with gunpowder and vomit. He didn’t speak but his smile told her everything would be fine again just like it was before. A camp was set up just outside of town where people gathered to plan and to eat and to stay warm while they rebuilt their life’s.
Five years have passed, and the town was a new town filled with hopes and dreams. There were weddings and funerals, dances and newborn babies. There was happiness again and Sunday picnics. Time had tested them, and they won but she never again had a full night’s sleep as one ear remained alert for the sounds of the bombs and the mortars that could come again at any given time. Just to be prepared and reminded she had kept the unopened can with no label and set it on the top shelf of the pantry where she prayed it would remain for many years to come
M.O.
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