Back after another long hiatus with a new story for Friday Fictioneers. I know this is possibly too soon to write on this incident but the words refused to leave. I couldn’t think of anything else to write for the prompt. All I could think about was a frightened five year old. I apologize if this bothers anyone.
It’s been forty years since the tragedy, since my grandma held me still while people died all around me. Most of what I know of that day comes what I was told, from the stories about Great Aunt Susie, about my brave uncle. All I remember is feeling scared but safe in grandma’s arms, of the certainty that I mustn’t move a muscle or look at what was happening. I remember the ceiling, the first thing I saw when the police showed up.
So much pain. So much loss. And it changed nothing. No justice, no peace. My administration will change that.