By A.S. Morrison
Copyright 2013 A.S. Morrison
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I remember the day it started, the day that everything changed. Dark clouds formed in the sky once again. I wondered how long it would be before it started raining, probably an hour, maybe two at the most. The barren landscape was already damp from morning rain. The ground was muddy; we stepped carefully, not wanting to make a sound. I looked back at the man behind me. He was busy concentrating on his footing, the same thing I should have been doing. He looked much older than thirty. The signs of age were clearly seen on his worn face. I wondered if that’s what I would look like in nine years. Most likely, everybody in Humurom looked older than they really were. It was the stress that caused it; the stress of an endless war with no end and no beginning.
I could see the church in the distance, or what was left of it. The walls had giant holes in them and the ceiling was almost completely gone. It stood out as the last remaining building in sight to not completely fall. It was also our evening hideout. Every day on our way home we would stop there and wait for the sun to go down before making our final walk home.