A picture from a set Im working on called faceless victims and short story to go along with it. Used to Run. He ran, He ran harder than ever knew he could, he was running through what used to be the old bakery, The smell, used to be sweet and heavy, used to make his stomach growl, used to be all he could smell on saturdays, the whole square would be crowded, busy, exciting. Used to be. He was running, his eyes hurt, mama Whats that noise? He wondered for a second before he didnt hear anything else. Mama Run! Ringing...the high pitched squeal, blackness and stinging. He wasnt running any more. Used to be hed run for hours, Just because he could, The sweet smell of the bakery in the distance as he ran past school, ran past his grandmothers house with the funny shaped door, ran alongside the Giant wall with the colors of red and green and black and white that mama says to stay away from. Mama Mama he didnt realize where he was or what had happened, in the blurry distance he can see grown ups running, I want to run! It hurts, Ive wet myself he thought embarrassed his brothers would make fun of him. As he tries to stand, he falls face forward as watches the ground come up to meet him. He realizes in a second but cant understand why he has no arms to stop himself. Mama...blackness. The rubble of the old bakery collapses around him, a tiny figure burried under rock and flesh and blood and sand. It used to smell so sweet in here. Used to be. End the bombing of Gaza.
Posted on: Sun, 03 Aug 2014 15:37:02 +0000
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