Can't Take the Heat

Hope Can Burn But Memories Can't

When he does not sleep he cry’s. For what? The boys don’t care and I don’t know. He is like me. His mother is alone outside the walls. Waiting for a paycheck or their husband who will not come home until the end of the war. If they last that long.

I am tired and filthy. The concrete tunnel has turned into mud an gravel. I feel claustrophobic and I swear we are going down. The farther we go the less urgent the boys seem to get away from the town. They told me to relax and I will be fine as if I was a little girl. Okay I was. 

They were all older then me by a few years. They were brothers and they claimed that they were to rough for their real family. I told them the truth like I told everyone. Why lie about something to people who might find out. That's a bigger mess then it is when people do know. I rather be ignored then teased.

After a few more hours of silence we saw a scrap of light. I felt as if breathing was all I could do, but I kept going. When we emerged out of the tunnel my heart fell. 

Dirt, craters, and a blood red sky was all I could see. One of the boys started to scream. Ky cried as loud as he could. I fell to the ground holding my knees. Memories of an old TV declaring the dead flooded back. I looked up and saw pieces of a tank scattered around a crater. My dad was on the list. Hope can be burned, but memories can’t.