Read The Light, The Dark, And Ember Between Page 19

Winter Rose

  Each warm mist of breath hung in the air like temporary lace, for seconds—not moments—seconds. The biting cold did nothing to cover the stench of destruction; carcasses of buildings still aflame, clouds of smoke rose the color of death. In some places it billowed like airborne foam, seemingly from everywhere. A blast concussion halted her run home when the air raid sirens had blared. She remembered the sound of her hard leather school shoes tapping on the pavement with each small stride, her lungs aching from gulping the frosty air as she ran. There was an explosion from somewhere behind her, followed by blackness.

  She awoke curled in a ball, her tidy school uniform covered in black soot and dust. Her knee stung a bit. Looking down past her heavy coat, she could see her stocking was torn around the kneecap and a healthy scrape underneath. The blood had long since dried, but the sting remained.

  Every movement she made included shivering that was a mixture of winter chill and fear. At a mature eight years old, all she wanted to do was find her parents. She had been but a few minutes away from home when she felt the blast, now she could only vaguely recognize her surroundings.

  There was no scent of fresh baked goods wafting through the cold December air like there used to be. Mr. Tillingham always baked extra cookies and pastries the week before Christmas, and simply breathing made you hungry, even if you’d just enjoyed afternoon tea and scones. Now the smell of burnt everything permeated the area. She coughed, causing her to gulp down a blend of icy and filthy air.

  All she could do was prop herself up against the shattered wall behind her and cry.