He only had time to grab his son and run. Together, they ran with the clothes on their back and their photo identification cards stuffed hastily in his pocket. They didn’t even have time to say goodbye.
Then again, there wasn’t much to say goodbye to. Behind them was fire, merciless and consuming, devouring each house like a starving dragon. Behind them were bodies, riddled with bullets, each hole dripping bloody dreams and hopes. Behind them were the graves of his wife and daughter, the screams of their last moments forever playing in his ears like a broken record.
When they reached the water and could run no more, they climbed into a raft. Paddling precariously away from shore, he finally glanced over his shoulder at the devastated home they left behind, and thought grimly, “no one puts their children in a boat unless the water is safer than the land.”
He only hoped there would be a better home ahead for his son.
© Jade M. Wong
Written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Word Count: 164.
News of the migrants reaching the US-Mexico border have dominated headlines for the past few days. Today, tensions rose among everyone on both sides of the immigration debate after reports were released that the situation at the border has gotten violent, with migrants attempting to storm the border and US troops using tear gas to ward them off.
In the midst of the turmoil, I find myself remembering Warsan Shire’s poem, “Home“, using her words for the line in my story about why parents would put their children on boats.