This is my entry into this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writer’s prompt. Thanks, as always, to PJ for hosting this and also to Maria at Doodles and Scribbles for the photo.
Sand and wind dance in the street. Palm tree fronds whisper to anyone who would listen. No one was listening. Not tonight. Not any night.
Nothing out of the ordinary tonight, except that I’m awake. I see I’m not alone. Lights glow from a few houses down, and I hear the cries. Cries of pain, anguish, hopelessness. Echoes of my own heart.
But, wait! What is that I see in the sky?
So bright, so large!
My breath catches and my heart pauses. I read about such a light once. It came so long ago to announce hope had come to a world thrashing in agony.
Could it again? The world, my world, thrashes in agony. But I cannot believe it. It must be the light of another plane come to bomb us. I wait for the inevitable.
But, it does not come. The light stays still, and…and I hear something. Voices in the sky? A song. A song so beautiful. Can hope come again after so long, after so much pain?
I’m right at 173 this week.
Not a very cheerful post, I know, but a sort of prayer. Like so many of us, I feel that I and the rest of the world have failed. Failed refugees fleeing IS, fleeing Syria, fleeing so much. Not that this small piece of fiction makes up for it. I don’t know if anything can make up for watching atrocities play out on the news day after day and doing nothing about it. I don’t know what exactly I could have done myself, and I tell myself that there wasn’t anything I could have done, really, but that doesn’t erase the need. Children and mothers and fathers, young men and women, God’s own creation, cried out for the world to do something. We cried with them. We talked about it on our social media and in our circles. But that’s about the extent of it. Talk. And I’m not changing that right now, either. I feel powerless, but that’s nothing compared to how they feel. But, as feeble as it is, I still pray. I still offer this small token of hope. It’s hard to see that hope dear ones as you suffer through such unbelievable horror and tragedy like in Aleppo, but it is there. It will come. That is my prayer for you. It will come.
OK, I’ll stop depressing all you reading this now. It is the weekend, after all. Go and enjoy it. Live your lives to the fullest. Live, and create something beautiful.
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