She ventured outside on her mother’s arm; her tongue catching the white flakes raining from the sky before recoiling at its sour taste. The announcement that blared from the foghorn ahead startled her even as families began to coalesce on the streets; gathering in solidarity as the trudged down cold avenues bordered by homes that sported the inviting glow of a warm fire. Skeletal trees, blackened and bare, parodied the spring day. The young girl gripped her mother’s hand tighter, confused as ash rained from the sky like snow on a winter’s day – too young to be a witness of war.
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