Everything is foggy and dark.
I open my eyes and see my grandma looking ahead.
What is she looking at, I wonder.
I turn my head and close my eyes once more.
Waking up to a startle, I see people running in the street now.
It's not as peaceful as the first time I woke. Looking up to my grandma (carrying me), I see tears in her eyes.
What happened?, I want to ask, but my mouth stays shut.
This is all I remember of the day I became a refugee.
The rest of the days were lonely, scary, and unforgettable.
My grandma stuck to me the whole ride to freedom.
YOU ARE READING
Magic
Proză scurtăLittle short stories, full of emotions, and the things that are still not solved today. Every chapter is a new story. There might be a story of a mouse and a horse. An article about freedom. A love story in between. Read to find out, what stories c...
