Five of us made it
out.
Four of us had been on
watch.
One, a little girl, had
hid.
Five of us were left to
burn our little village.
There were no funerals,
no burials.
If we mourned, we mourned
in private.
As our little city
burned, we moved on, looking for the next place, the next hope.
Five of us.
Out of more than one
hundred people, there were five of us.
Out of thirty children,
one had survived.
My sister was not one of the
five.
I watched as the little
home she had built, in our little city, burned to the ground.
She burned with it.
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