the sad part of it all was that he still saw
it, he could picture it in his mind, all of it
the flames, the burning of it all; the screaming
the shouts of leave right now, run, they're coming
he could see his mother escaping into the
painful abyss of death as she was shot, he could
remember her cries, her plead to leave her
alone, he could see it all and he could feel it too
he could feel chubby and familiar fingers
grabbing his and he could feel the ache of his legs
from running too hard and his lungs
felt like collapsing, he could feel the sense of chaos,
he could feel the weight of death pressing against him,
wanting him to give up, willing him to stop
but he couldn't because he could still see his seven
year old brother pulling him, he could still see
her even though she was five and he was just six,
he could see her as clear as the very image
of the burning, of everything and it willed him to fight, to
keep going, and so he did

(h.l.)