The sun illuminated the empty, damaged building. The building was deafeningly quiet. The only sound heard was the sound of faraway bombs being dropped. I proceeded to walk into the trees, taking care where I stepped. I was only three days ago going through the same woods without hesitation or anxiety. The explosives appeared to be moving closer.
I’ve walked more than 20 miles so far. I’m fatigued, but I know I must keep moving to stay safe. I can still hear bombs in the distant hours later. As I wander deeper into the woods, I hear a peculiar sound that sounds almost like crying. I decided to investigate the noise. I caught a glimpse of a little shoe as I moved closer to the sound.
After walking around a tree, I realised the noise was made by a tiny child. The girl’s hair was matted, and she had filth on her face. I immediately asked her if she was okay, but she didn’t respond. I waved for her to follow me since I didn’t know what else to do. Even as the sky darkened, bombs continued to fall, making me jump each time. I began to believe they would never stop. I decided to call it a night and stop walking.
I was awakened in the morning by voices rather than bombs. They appeared to be getting closer. I looked about, but there were no signs of life. I rose, perplexed, still not seeing anyone, and yelled out. There was no response. A flash of red caught my eye among the treetops. When I peered closely, I noticed a man in a red coat. Everything went black at that point. There were low voices, but these drifted away as well.