Save Us from the Bombings

Decent Essays

“Idiot! Stop moving! You’ll hurt yourself more than you previously did!” My arms desperately moved around as I strained to sit up but the woman who offended me was resilient and pushed me down. I could not perceive what she looked like, my senses were blinded by bright lights as my pupils are additionally sensitive than most due to my unfortunate albinism. “It is not in the slenderest way proper or polite of you to call a wounded adolescent an ‘idiot’ while he is alarmed and utterly unaware of his surroundings. Nor is it lady-like, Elizabeta.” My eyes began to adjust to the light just enough to see the man who spoke was tall, lanky and elegantly attractive. The surprisingly strong woman, Elizabeta, wasn’t elegant in most ways. Her wavy hair was in a disorganized bun with hair pins that stood out in distinction from her tresses. She wore a commonplace kitchen dress with a floral arrangement nearly veiled from sight by dirt and residue. Even her skin and hair was layered in filth excluding her hands and apron. I struggled to talk but my throat was parched and only a pitiable whimper escaped my lips. Elizabeta looked at me, reached for a glass of water on a stand near the makeshift cot I lay on. “Here,” she held the cup to my cracking lips and tilted it. Cool water rushed down my throat and I had never been more appreciative for water in my life. It felt like cool rain finally reaching a desert damned by a 100 year drought. “You called for your brother in your sleep.

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