The Story of a Little Child

You woke up one morning and looked around.

The air was again shrouded in fog, and suddenly the sky cleared again.

Then a piece of paper fell to the ground.

It said you must leave from here.

Not knowing how many times you had left before, you prepared once more and set out on the journey.

Your mother and father hurriedly got ready.

You are only five years old, and so is your little sibling.

That child should still be lying in a cradle.

But the child has never even heard of a cradle.

Your mother and father speak quietly among themselves.

Where will you go? Will you find water where you arrive?

If you cannot see any aid tents, how will you eat the last bit of food you have?

And suddenly the sky clears again, and fog envelops everything once more.

At such moments, you also hear a violent noise.

You never quite understand what it is.

You keep walking.

They tell you time is running out.

You keep walking.

But as you walk, the fog thickens, the sky grows brighter, and the noise grows louder without ceasing.

You run.

You run without knowing what you are running toward, yet carrying hope and faith always beside you.

And the years pass like this.

You are now seven years old, and many things in your life have changed.

Your mother no longer needs to run beside you.

You last saw your father, alongside your mother, smiling through the final waves of fog.

Now you know that what you see is not fog but smoke from bombs, that the brightening sky and the sounds are caused by exploding bombs.

So much has changed in your life over two years.

Just as so many things have remained unchanged.

It has changed because now you prepare the supplies yourself as you run, and you carry your sibling in your arms.

It has not changed because you are still running.