Hot, orange fires crackled amongst the ruins of what was once our street. Overhead, a whirring helicopter circled through the threatening, grey skies. From between the smouldering rubble a small, red-haired girl stepped forward. As the Soldiers watched, the girl carefully placed her posy of dandelions through the steaming grill of the first truck in the line: our liberation had begun.
I remained next to my mother. She had been very cold for sometime, but help was now here.
‘You there, boy, come with me,’ said the kind looking man.
‘But, my mother…,’ I said.
I didn’t look back as they loaded me onto the truck – I knew we’d already said our goodbyes.
These words form my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.