~✽~
-Elizabeth Anne Grey-
I awoke, sat up, and stretched. It is but yet another day of life.
Many might as how I survived after being reduced to nothing. The answer to that? I wish I knew it myself.
Now, my home isn't very big and fancy, and it doesn't actually keep the cold out when it's winter, but beggars can't be choosers, and its one step above the freezing payment. Yes, what I called home was a compact cardboard box on the side of the broken, crumbling road, perched right next to a giant, public, letterbox.
Inside this precious box lies a tattered sheet I use to keep warm, along with a pillow, that has more holes than a sponge. I do menial work, and when I don't, I sit by my box, asking for alms. After the devastating war had stopped, the place had ever so slowly begun to rebuild itself, but the economy was still pretty low. Sometimes, if I get lucky, a kind passer-by would feel a little sympathy, and drop a Zloty or a piece of bread into the palm of my withering hands.
I don't know why I live anymore. I'm not sure whether to be thankful for surviving the merciless onslaught of war, or to wish I had died back then, to at least give myself some rest.
I once had hope, in the back of my head, in the soldier who rescued my kids. He never did come back, although I had a feeling that would happen. As long as my children are both safe and sound, I have much to be grateful for. I guess, it's that thought that wills my heart to keep beating.
I'll live as long as I have to, in the constant terror of this world, if it meant that Nicholas and Diana might have a good life. They would be so grown up by now. Di would be 10 and Nico would be 16- a little man! There has never been a day that I haven't prayed for them, so in my heart I know they're fine.
Would they remember me? Would they think of their mother once in a while? I wouldn't want them to be sad about it though. I don't ever want them to get hurt, or cry. Not like that day, never again.
Huh. Says the one in a cardboard box.
It's not like I can do anything about it now. If Mark was here he'd laugh and shake his head at me pretending to be all tough. I shook my head, as I walked down the street, looking for a busy spot. I made myself comfortable, put out a small empty can I found in the trash, and began to sing.
People would glance at me and look away, as if I were a living reminder of the terror that took place ten years ago. But they don't know the pain of people like me. They have no right to judge us from their comfortable homes, where they sit on chairs, and eat and drink as they please. They don't know what it's like to have lost everything you hold dear, all in an instant. Such wealth is only temporary; here one day and gone the next. If only my songs could make them understand that they need to make life worthwhile, and be thankful for what little they may have. Peace comes at a cost, but love is always free.
I didn't know many songs, so most of what I sang came from deep inside my memory, or from what I'd catch on from the occasional passer-by; little verses and lines that I'd hum to myself when I couldn't sleep. There was one special song, that my mother used to sing. It had an eerie feel to it, but I suppose it was rather fitting to my situation. It was rather strange, almost like my mother saw the war coming, in the near future.
I closed my eyes and began to sing.
"Home is behind, the world ahead.
And there are many paths to tread.
Through shadow, to the edge of night.
Until the stars are all alight.
Mist and shadow, cloud and shade.
All shall fade, all shall fade."
(Pippin's Song, The Lord of The Rings)
I finished my song. As I opened my eyes, I saw a small crowd of people standing a little afar off, some of them teary-eyed, with their hands clasped over their chests, and I knew that they had seen what U had, too. They had lived through the same disaster that swept away scores of lives, 10 years ago. When it was evening time, and the sun was preparing to set, I began counting what little change I had acquired from today's street begging. I stared at the little, dirty, brass coins laid out on my palm. About enough for some bread. At least today I won't have to go off starving. I sighed as I made my way off to find some street seller, that would be kind enough to bargain with me.
It was indeed, yet another day of life.
