He sat on a chair missing a leg in a room shy two walls in a house otherwise reduced to rubble and rubbish.
“Mr. Smith? Is that you?”
He was reed thin, ghost white, virtually unrecognizable. This had been his home before, well…
I climbed over debris, wondering if he was dead like so many others. Death enveloped this city.
His head turned toward the tumbling stones.
“Are you okay?” I cringed inwardly.
A wire-thin arm waved at a wall. “What happens now? Those thieves stole her life and her painting.”
I nodded. Yes, war is a great thief.
Carrot Ranch 99 word challenge. Picture is linked from SyriaFreedom.
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