Description

Dust. That is all he could remember. Prickly particles that scratched his throat and burnt his eyes. Perfectly formed clouds that engulfed him, the entirety of his small body. And the hiss that bit through him, came in from one ear and travelled all inside him, killed all the butterflies in his tummy, left without giving him a second thought. On the peripheries of the dust cloud lay a man whose knee had turned into a fountain; beyond him a head that had lost her body. The head’s eyes were wide open, searching for something in the distance. The boy observed all of that and rolled with the dust cloud. Drawing by seven-year-old me after surviving an air raid.