It’s dark. Looking around I try to find my way out of the darkness – out of this horrible place.
Rubble lines the streets, my once beloved neighbourhood destroyed. Fire rages through buildings, smoke filling the sky. I can smell fear, people trapped inside the buildings. Including my parents.
Turning around, I look back at my smoke filled house. It looks like a demon, it’s eyes are dark, it’s mouth open; showing crooked teeth.
People pass by me, looking for survivors in the wreckage. They don’t give me a second glance. Why should they? I’m fine. I don’t need help.
I look up at the sky, black as death. It’s empty, the stars have died. I remember when I was younger, when I lived in Kenya, there were hundreds; maybe millions of stars that were visible every night.
Giving one final glance at my blackened house, I turn and run.
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