One-The Raid

The little girl crouched in the bushes.  She was struggling against the older boy who had his hand across her mouth to muffle her screams, and was using his body to limit her thrashing.  There were tears in her  eyes.  And his.  They both were watching the soldiers moving  across the field toward the barn.  The boy whispered “Hush,  They’ll hear us.”  The little girl was sobbing, her voice muffled by her brother’s hand which she had bitten.  “Momma, They’re hurting momma, and Papa.  Where’s Papa?  I don’t see him anymore.”  “Hush.  We’ll see.  We’ll see.  Hush, they won’t find us if we stay quiet. Please be quiet.”

The raid over, the soldiers left.  There was smoke coming from the farm house.  There was an unearthly quiet shrouding the usually noisy farmstead..  There were no sounds of the animals. No chickens clucked.  No goats bleated.  There were no calls from their father calling them home.  There was no singing from their mother. Even the insects were silent. The smoke from the farmhouse grew heavier and they saw a few flames.  They were frozen, as if the quiet had stolen over them like cold and frozen  them in place.  “What’ll we do?” The boy must have spoken out loud. They wanted to go closer , but were afraid of what they would find.  The girl shook off her brother’s grip, “Poppi.  We’ll go find Poppi.  He’ll know.”

Like two little mice they quietly left their hiding place and ran into the woods. 

So many stories are focused on adults and their actions or coming of age into adult hood.  This is my attempt to tell as much of the story as possible from the child’s point of view.