Chapter 20
I sit by the shore of what's left of my city. The air, fragrant with a faint hint of jasmine, carries no sign of life since everyone was killed.
The neighbour who often cooked beef broth is no longer. The kid who yelled at the other children with a stick in hand is no longer. The warm bed that snuggled me is no longer.
The only thing left of them is the smoke, lingering like a stubborn memory.
Bits of stubborn infrastructure refuse to fall with the bombs, standing as silent witnesses to the devastation.
Grandmother.
I miss you. I wish you were here with me now.
***
"Do you miss him?" I asked.
"Who, my dear?" Grandmother's eyes twinkled with the wisdom of years.
"Your husband and children... You always tell me stories of them."
