My Sunday Photo Fiction entry!
She wouldn’t fit in, not her, not here; But she stayed, she had to. They spoke funny, not like the English shows she saw back home on TV. Back home. The tears welled up like always. What home?
The bombs had finally reached her. First the low hissing sound, then louder, then you had to cover your ears as hard as you could and keep them covered, as cries of death reverberated all around.
She assuaged herself with empty words as disdainful eyes rested upon her. All eyes, except his or so she thought. He approached slowly and she looked away. She wanted him to keep walking but he didn’t. She wanted to bear the pain alone but he was already sitting beside her.
“I built it myself,” he motioned towards the funny bicycle.
“You can always rebuild what is lost.”
All at once the tears staring rolling down her cheeks but this time she was grateful. The kindness in his voice overpowered the strange accent and his smiling eyes were the only ones that mattered, in the room full of strangers.