Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: STEW (11/26/15)
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TITLE: When Fire Falls | Previous Challenge Entry
By Hannah Gaudette
12/03/15 -
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The terrible shriek of explosions rang outside in frightening consistency. When would they give up the attack? When would we be left alone? I pulled my tiny sister close and stroked her soft brown hair, listening to her quiet cries. I looked around in our cramped underground shelter. My three brothers sat in stunned silence, anger mixing with the abundant hurt in their eyes. In my own mind, images of the past hour blended with the words that refused to abate. We're orphans.
My brothers understood, of course, but little Helen? How could I ever explain to her the truth? Only a month ago our father had been killed in this war. Now, only a few minutes ago, we'd witnessed the terrifying explosion that took our cousins' house . . . and our mother.
Fighting tears of despair, I hugged Helen tighter. I needed her more than she needed me at this point.
“Can . . . Can we do something?” Charles asked.
Lawrence sighed, playing the part of the big brother, but his voice echoed unshed tears. “Don't be silly. We have to stay here until they are gone.”
“When will that be?” Helen sniffed.
“Soon,” I whispered.
William, only seven, spoke up. “I'm hungry.”
“We all are,” I reminded him gently. “Just try to forget about it now.”
I couldn't remember a time when we weren't hungry. We were poor, food was sparse, and with five children to feed, Mum had struggled for so long. It had been decided only two days ago that we would go to Switzerland to stay with our grandfather until the war was over, and Mum secured passage aboard a train for this very weekend. Would we still be able to go now? Without our mother? With our home destroyed?
“Please, Charlotte,” William moaned. “I'm so hungry.”
“Hush,” Lawrence scolded.
I sighed. Lawrence could hold his own, live in denial for a time, but the younger ones couldn't. They needed something. I glanced around at the few things we'd supplied the shelter with. There were some cushions, a few books, a small first aid kit, a Bible, and a wooden bowl. I didn't know where it had come from, but an idea dawned and brought forth a slight smile.
“I know what we can eat,” I said, drawing the attention of my siblings.
I reached for the bowl took an imaginary sip, my face lighting up with the warm substance that began to fill my body.
“I do believe this is Mum's famous stew!” I handed the bowl to Helen.
She smiled and sipped, looking up at me with that same sweet, innocent smile. “Tastes just like hers.”
She handed the bowl off to Charles, then it went to Lawrence, who took a big mouthful of the steaming stew before giving it to William. He looked back at me with a sad smile. Tears fell down his cheeks.
William just stared at the empty bowl. “There's nothing here.”
I leaned forward. “William, yes, there is. Mum made that stew every Sunday for us. She would want us to have some now.”
“But it's empty!” he groaned.
“No,” I insisted. “I can see it. I had some. It tasted awfully good. Go ahead, try it.”
He slowly took an invisible sip. His face fell.
“Let's just pretend that God sent us manna from heaven. Okay?” I nodded firmly.
He took another bite. This time, he smiled broadly. “It tastes just like Mum's!”
We shared the rest of the stew and it never ran out. Explosions and desperate screams of fleeing people pierced the air, but we held them far from our ears as the fire fell outside. In those simple, tear-filled moments, our stomachs and our hearts were full.
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You and your mom continue to grow as writers. I look forward to reading more.