Crossfire
Gunshots.
I heard them in the distance. The consistent rattling of machine guns and explosion of cannons filled my heart with trepidation, but I knew I had no other choice. I took the earthen jar in the kitchen and started on my way, knowing that this day could be my last.
I heard an explosion from afar. The suicide bombers must have struck again. I whispered a prayer to Allah. Guide me. Don’t let me die. I continued to tread the dusty path, every second anticipating a sudden explosion or rainfall of bullets. Thankfully, there was none. For the time being, at least.
My hand was getting weary from carrying the enormous jar. I set it on the ground, eager to get some rest. Sweat was collecting on my eyebrow, and my forehead was drenched. I knew it would be hours before I could return home. My son was surely already thirsty, and I hoped my sister had arrived so he wouldn’t be alone. I decided it would be best if I continued on my way already so I could get back home soonest.
I was developing a liking of your story but you cut it short. When is the next episode? Pat me by my site.
I failed to add a “Read More” link after the post excerpt. Please visit the full post at http://deanlozarie.com/2008/06/25/crossfire/