Jugar
 

    Everywhere he turned, everywhere he looked, he saw it, he heard it. Screaming, burning, yelling, looting, raping, beating, crying and everything of a criminal sort of which the likes one could hardly imagine.

    He couldn't find his mother anywhere.

    A group of men came by, dragging galloping horses with them. They carried hand carved weapons of stones and wore plain brown clothing that was splattered with dried blood. They yelled at one another in a foreign tongue, ignoring the child as they passed.

    They weren't interested in little boys.

    The child crawled into a dark, damp alleyway, feeling the bugs scatter away at his presence. I felt cold, hungry, dirty and alone. In the distance he heard such a wail of sorrow that it caused him to shiver in fear and curl into a protective ball.

    His mother had gotten lost in a crowd. If he closed his eyes now he could still see her disappearing into a crowd with the men in the blood stained tunics.

    She had been crying.

    He was crying now as he rested his head on his drawn up knees, unable to ignore the cries of pain and anguish that seemed to come from every direction. With each new wail, he trembled harder, with each new voice he broke into more sobs.

    More hoofbeats and heavy footsteps sped by, yelling in that same language. Whatever they were yelling, he knew it would only bring more crying and suffering.

    The child turned his head to bury it against his thighs, putting his arms over his head to try and drown out the noise.

    It didn't go away.

    He wondered if it ever would.