"MOMMY!" I scream at the top of my lungs, watching the helicopter blades spin faster and faster as the helicopter itself takes off, the solvenly wheels folding themselves until they disappear into the body, lifting higher and higher into the air. Light streams out of the two front lights and I squint, trying desperately to see who ever is sitting behind the window of the front seat.
The reflection of the lights from the other helicopters are making that impossible. And not like it matters whether I see who is sitting behind there or not; it's not like I'll ever be seeing them again.
"Mommy..." I whimper, my eyes searching around, landing on every one of the corpses that are laying soundlessly on the gravel. I recognize some of the faces, although some of them are hard to recognize due to the flesh having been peeled off, making them impossible to identify.
I get off the ground, not bothering to shake the gravel off my palms as I regain balance on my weak knees, stumbling as I run to my mother's body. There is a hole in her chest, whatever caused it having ripped her white shirt, ruining it with the crimson liquid once it had gone inside. I drop to my knenes beside my mother's body, using my palms to push my hair away. It wasn't a good idea because the gravel got on my eyelids as I did this.
"MOMMY!" I scream for the umpteenth time, staring as blood gushes out of the hole in her shirt. I clap my little hands on top of it, remembering what sister Anna had said before when she was helping a woman that got hurt. Even though it wasn't directed to me, she had said that if you cover the source of the blood with your hands and press hard, it'll stop the bleeding. Instinctively I put all my weight on my hands, looking at my mother's closed eyelids. She doesn't move, and her lips have turned a pale plum as I keep pressuring her chest. The irritating noise of the helicopters have left the atmosphere with a more deafening silence, causing my little brain to be even more terrified than I already was.
"Mom... wake up..." I whisper to her, sniffling. I can hear crickets in the distance and the sound of the wind blowing on the trees, but nothing else. I look around at the bodies, hoping one of them would get up to help me.
"Mom." I repeat, leaning down to her face to feel her breath on my cheek the way I had when she hugged me, when she sang me a lulluby, or when she patiently explained things to me.
I sit there, not daring to remove my hands from her chest even though blood kept soundlessly seeping through my little fingers, the dirt vividly visible through my nails. The field was only lit by the moon above, and that was just about it. I sit and sit, waiting for the familiar sound of footsteps from my father or any other person.
But they never come.
