Spellbound

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During the day the sky to the east was black, but at night it burned red. For three days straight the thunder had never stopped. At first she had cringed at every distant rumble, and the noise had left her frightened and crying, but now the bombs were just background noise. The constant rattling of their small house had become almost normal. Father had told her the thunder was called artillery, and though it sounded scary, they needed to be brave. The tears did not come so often anymore, and then only at night, when the others couldn’t see her.

Father said that the fighting was still many miles away and that they would be safe here. Mother had wanted to flee but Father insisted there was nowhere else for them to go. They had no money. The government had confiscated all of their crops and most of their animals to feed the army. There was no food in the refugee-packed cities either. They were safer staying on the farm, for at least there, should the Germans break through, they might be overlooked as unimportant and passed by on the soldiers’ push to Paris.

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