“Burrrn,” I hear someone whisper and envision her lips forming the word, drawing it out in a long hiss.
We huddle together in the darkness, taking comfort in the warmth of each other’s bodies. Soon it’ll be over and we can come out. Soon, right?
I smell Vladavostock next to me. Not that she smells bad, but scent and touch are the only senses I have to identify those around me. We have to be quiet, to hide. The whisperer shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t know why she said burn. Does she mean they’ll burn us? Or we’ll burn them? Either way, it’s a bad thing to say. I close my eyes. Not that I can tell the difference down here in this deep earthen hollow. I can smell the rich soil hiding beneath the odor of sweat, blood, and piss.
It’s good soil. It can grow a lot of things. I see images on the insides of my eyelids of spring fields covered in downy green seedlings and towering trees with rich, dark green leaves. Why is there us and them? We all just want to farm and to live. Little Lila snuggles against my side and I put my arm around her and pull her close. She only knows work and hiding. At her age I knew sun and games and fun. That’s what she should have. This must change. This time when we crawl out of here filthy and exhausted, it will be our last.
Daily Prompt Burn