Remember

Chapter One

A mother takes a child indoors as a gun sounds. The terrorists were back. Walking, I saw them create fear on the streets. People returned to their poorly made mud huts and stayed put. No one ever knew where the bullets would land. They just knew that they were less likely to be in its path if they hid.

"Juno!" My mother cries. The terror in her eyes tells me that we have to go. Our naked and blistered feet continue down the dirt trail to the shack that we called our home. Terrorized people tore past us at all angles. A few dropped dead from bullet shots, some screamed on pain. We didn't have time to help them because we would probably be caught in the fire. I started to fiddle with my somewhat shredded pants as my anxiety grew. After a few minutes we arrived. The house was about three feet wide and four feet tall and held a bed of straw and a rough blanket made of animal hair. We had a water bowl next to the extra large lump of straw that we used as a pillow. My father soon came in and crouched next to us.

He had a grim look that was seen on faces more often than it should. "Pa, what happened?" I asked him softly. He looked down and started drawing in the dirt. He drew a woman labeled Ciretta. He then added- RIP. I let out a gasp at the horrible news. This was my grandmother. We had always been close and she had often comforted me in times like these when I was younger. Her hugs were usually unnecessary but were enjoyed. I felt cold with the fact that I would never be given love from her embrace again.

I let out soft and silent tears that continued to flow down my face for the next hour or so. The terrorists continued their path of destruction and only left long after the sun had set. All of my family felt tired and knew we couldn't hunt at night, and we would do so in the morning.  We slept until dawn and woke up with empty stomachs. This was a normal feeling and we set into motion for the day.