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Something tells me not to go, not to follow them—to stay right where I am—but as my feet move against the protest of my mind, I realize I do not have a choice.
“The war really came to us,”
We lie down next to each other and even though I am exhausted beyond measure, I do not sleep for the racing of my heart. My head feels hard against the cracked, muddy ground.
Some people may think it is something to be embarrassed of, but to me it is a crown.
“What is wrong with freckles?”
“Everyone knows they are ugly,” I say. “Why are they ugly? I like them.” “You are just saying that.” “I am not! They are like stars scattered on your face,
have always thought my red hair was beautiful, even if no one else did.
“You can go to heaven from here if you want,” I say, “but I am going home from here.”
I want to eat the cool, crisp air.
We are all one, but we didn’t know that, and we ripped each other apart and by doing so we ripped ourselves apart.
