Maggie gently squeezed my hand as the ceremony came an end. It had been our first September back in New York since I’d left the service.
‘How did it feel that day?’ the young woman next to me asked.
How did it feel, lady? It felt absolutely fricking terrifying. Instinct was screaming at me to turn and run, to flee to safety with everybody else, to escape from the undreamt of horrors unfolding a few blocks up ahead. But I didn’t turn, I didn’t run, none of us did.
‘It felt like I was doing my job, Miss.’ I said.
These words form my entry into Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.
It’s an old prompt, but a new story. No re-treads on here