I think it’s time to haul out one of the previously written paragraphs - I’ve been sitting here for about 1/2 hour and, though I’ve started a few things, I’ve ‘erased’ them for not being interesting enough to record. Besides, it’s Sunday and for some reason I am overwhelmingly tired - which is causing me to be extremely lazy and not feeling like doing much of anything - I’ll just post this and then go play the piano for a little while - that might wake me up…
The dust was collecting in the folds of her jellaba as the wind blew around her. She huddled against the base of the rusting hull of some long forgotten vehicle that was half buried in the sand, the little girl on her lap, whimpered and her moans joined the sound of the wind and were carried far off, just like she wished they could be.
It was still early in the day so there was still the hope that she could make it back to what remained of her village before night set in. She did not like the idea of spending the night out in the open and her daughter needed something to eat, the last meal having occurred the night before the raid, two days ago.
She wanted to turn away from the faces that haunted her thoughts and tried to think of home; How she missed it! – but the nightmare continued to play before her eyes.
She shivered even as the sun beat down upon her, raising the goose-flesh and causing her to whimper. The little girl in her arms opened her eyes in alarm and looked up at her young mother; too young to be holding a child of her own and yet there she sat; unwed, unwanted, and the child that was a stain upon her, nestled close to her. How could one so innocent cause so much hatred and strife within a family, a village? She was but a victim of the internal struggles for power that seized the community and forced such things upon her by those who wished to take their vengeance.
It was still early in the day so there was still the hope that she could make it back to what remained of her village before night set in. She did not like the idea of spending the night out in the open and her daughter needed something to eat, the last meal having occurred the night before the raid, two days ago.
She wanted to turn away from the faces that haunted her thoughts and tried to think of home; How she missed it! – but the nightmare continued to play before her eyes.
She shivered even as the sun beat down upon her, raising the goose-flesh and causing her to whimper. The little girl in her arms opened her eyes in alarm and looked up at her young mother; too young to be holding a child of her own and yet there she sat; unwed, unwanted, and the child that was a stain upon her, nestled close to her. How could one so innocent cause so much hatred and strife within a family, a village? She was but a victim of the internal struggles for power that seized the community and forced such things upon her by those who wished to take their vengeance.
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