The sky broke first.
The little girl thought it was thunder, until the ground screamed and the street burst apart in front of them. Her mother's hand crushed around her body, pulling in her lap and running away as fire rained from above. Buildings folded like paper. The air tasted of dust and metal.
"Don't, don't look back honey," her mother said, though her own voice was shaking, laced with fear and fatigue.
They ran, they ran and ran away from the rumbling with the hope of finding peace, finding the relief that wasn't theirs.
Girl not even more than six was watching the horrific scenes despite her mother's pleading. She gazed towards the folded Buildings, she watched tall buildings crumble, turning into pile of rubble.
She was panting, running clumsily as strength was slowly leaving her body, she was about to collapse,but the fear of death and the sound of bombings kept her up. She ran burning her up for her daughter.
After running cautiously for an hour, taking cover of fallen building just so not to get caught.
Praying for not to get attention of problem she kept her distance, running away from the bombings.
When the noise of bombings felt distant, she still kept going, fearing of it being a trap. Feeling safe she to rest, not by fatigue, not by draining herself up, but by sheer instincts which drived her, taking shelter under a pile of rubble which had a promising roof for quick rest, she hoped it won't be a trap, she cautiously checked to small space suppressing her violent coughs to stay put, once assured, she then gently let her daughter down. Hesitant at first, fearing of letting her only hope to survive in this living hell go.
She tried to ask her how was she, but thirst had drained her up, she wasn't able to form words. Still holding back her coughs fearing of getting it heard. She was suppressing violent coughs, her daughter was calming her up, rubbing her back, soothing her.
Concern for her daughter was making her feel guilty, instead of her consoling her daughter, it was other way round.
This had made her wonder what good deeds she might have done to be blessed with such a daughter.
Just as the cough controlled she saw concern in her daughter's eyes she faked her a toothy grin, seeing her daughter lighten up washed her with relief.
"Mommy, are you Ok?" the words were laced with concern and innocence but those were consoling. Still asking just to be sure, this was very unlikely from a Six year old girl.
She knelt in front of her, resting her rough hands on her shoulder, "Yes Sweetie, Mommy is completely fine," this was a lie but, it worked like a charm for her, she was grinning widely.
"But, tell mommy truth" voice shaking with cough building up, she clutched her daughter's tiny hands together "S-Sweetie, are you ok?"
"Yes mommy", those words provided her some strength and most of all some relief. She kissed the forehead, though her face was stained by debrie, she wiped her face with her shirt's sleeve. Daughter did the same with her sleeve. This left her mother stunned, again wondering about her good deeds. Grinning again, she again kissed her all over the face.
"H-Here, drink some water", the girl took the bottle and gulped some, she offered it to her but she refused even though being thirsty enough to drink whole.
"Mommy I am hungry…" that felt like a hard blow to her hope. She knew this was going to come, her supplies were short, even finding drinkable water was scarce, hunger was something that she could fight but not her daughter.
She knelt in front of her and cupped her face and kissed her, she tried to say, but the thirst made hard to speak.
Girl was watching her mother's uneasiness, finally after some attempts she looked into her daughters eyes, seeing concern for 'her' rather than her hunger, giving a small apologetic smile she said "Sweetie, m-mommy can't make you something right now, but she promise that she'll give you sweets if you can stay quiet and do as mommy says."
"No mom, I don't want to eat sweets, I want biscuits."
"Ye-Yes my jellybean I'll surely bring it to you", said joyfully, those words were consoling to hear but the reality was tearful. Not having something to eat for days and running for life upon that had left her on the verge of her strength. Providing as much as she can for her daughter, but it wasn't enough. She was in absolute despair that she couldn't be a good mother that she had to lie to her hungry daughter to escape from the bitter reality.
Taking rest for few minutes, just as she wanted to leave, it started raining.
It was a boon to her, she took every water bottle and with clean tarp with a hole supporting with bamboos to collect water and began to refill the bottles. She drank down several gulps to quench her thirst, finding relief and joy in small things was her nature, but now it became her need.
Living for her daughter was the only goal to her survival. To move now was something she can't afford, fearing the daughter might catch cold and fell sick.
Sickness meant death now. She has to find food and if she can, find some medicines.
She moved as soon as it stopped raining, carrying a heavy Military Bag, wearing a helmet with shotgun in her hand and with her brave daughter's tiny hands in another providing her courage.
Her Daughter also wearing a helmet with a bag slightly bigger than her with unknown object stuffed in it as a plate covering her whole back. She was tightly griping the rough hand of her mother. Looking at her mother's face and seeing her tensed, she tried to have her attention.
"Mommy, Smile please." she said grinning widely showcasing the cavity where her tooth should have been. This had lighten up her mother's tension for sometime. She smiled back and they both continued their journey.
She scooped her daughter up and walked around in search of some food, she hummed rhythm to her and she slept, this was a desperate need for mother and this bought her time to search for food.
Walking with her daughter for almost another hour she found a familiar locality. This had fuelled her with hope, knowing her way around, she searched for the Convenience Store, hoping to find some packed ration. The place was abandoned and few houses were burned, some were destroyed by bombings, while searching, she also checking some houses for food and clothes, the one she wore had worn down, she also needed gloves for her daughter. Winter was approaching soon, she also needed to find a suitable place to spend the night.
Searching, only to finding nothing, not even a single house has something to eat, only tattered clothes and some bedrolls was to be found, but this wasn't slowing her down, she had made up her mind on facing these failures, shortages, but she wasn't letting her hopes down.
Finding the store was like getting another life for her and filled her with some more hope.
A convenience store stood at the corner of the street. The walls were scarred, the roof still holding. Some glasses were shattered except one. That wasn't raised any doubt in her mind until she looked more carefully. That window was clean, no debrie stuck on it as if, someone deliberately cleaned it.
Her stomach tightened.
She froze, heart thudding. In a city torn apart by bombardment, clear glass was a lie waiting to be told. A trap. A lure. She scanned the street, the rooftops, the shadows between fallen steel, keeping her distance, she willed not to go, but she had to do it, for her daughter, this could get her something to eat. She woke her up and whispered her to stay at her side all the time. Making her mind. Shotgun came into her hands first, held low but ready. The pistol rested at her hip, cold reassurance near her foot, the knife stayed hidden, close enough to be felt, not seen.
The road had turned to mud, thick and clinging, pulling at her boots with every step. Ruined buildings leaned over it like broken teeth, their insides exposed, their structure scattered across the street. She moved slowly, keeping to the rubble, using shattered concrete as cover she approached cautiously.
Her daughter stayed close. Too close, beside her and against wall, she glanced down, tightening her grip on the small hand beside her. She slipped, but just before she hit the could hit the ground, the woman pulled her.
Both took cover of the concrete, she knelt and look her over – dirty hands, scrapped knee, mud on her sunken cheeks.
"It's okay," she whispered, though her own voice wavered, "I've got you."
Her gaze fell towards the floor, her eyes widened instantly, she saw what she feared most.
Fresh Footprints of a human.
Her heart was pounding hard in her chest, not because of excitement to see another survivor, but because of that unknown survivor. Those weren't pleasant memories, her instincts were screaming to run, not to repeat that same mistake, but her hungry daughter's plea was echoing in her mind.
She had to take the risk. She have to figure out a way.
She had to take the risk. She have to figure out a way. She can't endanger her daughter. Her only option was to leave her somewhere safe, her maternalism didn't digested the thought of leaving her. Nowhere is safe in this hell.
The idea came to her suddenly — sharp, frightening, and necessary.
She turned away from the store and scanned the rubble behind them. Slabs of concrete lay collapsed over one another, forming narrow gaps where light barely reached. Dangerous. Tight. But hidden.
She crouched and tested the space, pressing her shoulder into it, kicked it, listening for any shift. The concrete held.
"Come here," she whispered in a sweet voice a bit hurried.
Her daughter hesitant. The woman didn't rush her. She checked the gap again, cleared loose stones, then guided the girl down carefully, inch by inch, until the small body fit between the cold slabs.
"Okay, listen sweetheart, Mommy wants you to Stay quiet," she said, forcing calm into her voice. "No matter what you hear do not get out of here."
"But mommy I am scared…." Her voice was weak. It was obvious to listen this from a Six year old.
"Th-There is no need to be afraid off my dear, mommy will come right back." She kept glancing back to if she was being watched.
"Are you leaving me?" the girl was sobbing.
Her heart and stomach twisted in pain and guilt, those words striked hard and pierced through every body part of her, she was hating herself to do this to her, but this cruel world had left her no choice. She had to be cruel for her sake.
"No, No, No sweetheart…, mommy would never ever do that, don't you ever think mommy doesn't loves you…." Her voice was calm and pleading but completely drenched in pain, tears running down her red, sleepless eyes.
She leaned in and kissed deeply on the forehead, feeling it through her lips, she wasn't willing to let go, trying to give her some assurance.
She pulled a black cloth from her back and draped it over the her, tucking the edges into the cracks, turning her into another shadow among many. Just as she wanted to go, she whispered, "Mommy, please come back."
"Yes sweetie, mommy will come back in no time. Now stay hidden and don't come out until I come back to you. Okay?", with that she. leving her in the care of shadows hoping it will keep her safe. As safe as this cruel world allowed.
The shotgun came up. Her breathing slowed, calming herself.
The walk to the store felt longer without her.
Every step away from the rubble tightened something in her chest. She fought the urge to look back, knowing that even a second of hesitation could cost them both. The mud dragged at her boots, and the open street offered no mercy, no cover.
Inside the gap between concrete slabs, the world shrank.
The girl hugged her knees, the black cloth heavy against her head. Dust tickled her nose. Her breathing rugged by crying. Every sound — the distant creak of metal, the whisper of wind — felt close enough to touch. She pressed her fingers into the dirt and waited, counting her breaths the way her mother had taught her.
One… two… three…
The sudden noise of lightning startled her, wishing her mother to be safe and to comeback safely.
Thunder was masking the noise of her daughter and also hers. Hoping not to rain soon, she hurried her pace into the store.
Like a flashback it all came like flood, unrestrained, not wanting to be restrained.
It was the retro kind, untouched by modern polish. No bell hung at the door. No chime announced her presence. The same black granite flooring stretched beneath her feet, polished smooth by years of footsteps. Two wooden counters stood side by side, their edges rounded from use, and behind them sat a small radio — silent now, but still waiting.
It felt as though time had stalled, as if the last moment here had never finished.
She could almost see him behind the counter — Mr. John Adam, sleeves rolled up, that familiar easy smile on his face, in his mid-seventies, he had always joked about being "too young to feel this old." Spring evening, without fail, he greeted customers like family, asking about their day as if the world had nowhere else to be.
And his wife — Kathryn — always near the shelves, humming softly. Once, years ago, during a power cut, she had lit candles across the counters and laughed when the children called it a Candle Light Dinner. The store had glowed that night, warm and golden, untouched by darkness. Their son Alex along with his wife Emma helped them in their chores.
Their grandkids — Rachel and Shane— used to run between the aisles, playing tag, slipping past customers with quick apologies and wide grins. Their laughter had filled the space, light and careless, echoing off these very walls.
The smell was still here, a faint sweetness lingered in the air — sugar and vanilla, mixed with sweet candies. Pleasant. Comforting. Alive.
Her chest tightened.
Everything stood exactly where it should have been. No dust. No chaos. No signs of struggle.
As if the store was still waiting for evening to arrive — for the radio to crackle back to life, for children to run, for greetings to be exchanged.
Outside, the world had ended. But Inside, spring had never left.
Her breath caught.
The sweetness in the air thinned, fading into the sharp smell of dust and old plastic. The light flickered overhead, uneven now, buzzing faintly as if reminding her where — when — she truly was.
The radio remained silent.
She shifted her weight, and the sound of her boot against granite echoed too loudly in the empty store. The counters were still there, the shelves still neat — but the warmth was gone. No laughter. No greetings. Just space where voices used to live.
She tightened her grip on the shotgun.
Food first. Then out.
She searched the shelves for anything edible. All was wrappers.
She didn't lost hope, she continued. Searching cartoon boxes, vending machines, also behind them, all was in vain. Nothing to spare. She was cursed fate to be this cruel for her daughter.
She once again searched for food but she found nothing.