Concrete angel

In the end of it all, the end of the existense of life, the senses gets stronger, more powerfull. Your nose can smell just a little bit more than before, and your eyes can see a bit more than they ever did. Every touch from the loved ones touches your heart and every heartbeat hurts. You can see the tears of your own flesh and blood, your own little honniebug, your little darling. And then it all ends.

Beep, beep, beep, the alarmclock shouted from the bedside table. «Get up my dear, it is time to go», as she walked into the kitchen she took a deep breath, trying to ease the pain in her heart. «Have some bread baby, but be in a hurry. We are leaving in ten minutes.» The bombs had struck the west side of the city last night, in a few hours the germans would arrive the little town, this was their only chance for survival. «Time to go», the handsome, tall and slim father declared. His face looked ten years older than his true age. His «dirty» blood made the whole family, this beloved ones, in a great danger. If anything happended to his little girl, it would be all his fault. There were no one else to blame. «Hurry baby, here is your jacket, quick now.» They stepped out of through the door, out of their once loving and safe house. Now there were not a single safe spot in this world for them. Lost. Down the street, take the first to left and then walk towards the farm. This was the descrition they had gotten by his pal on work. The little family on three were going to stay on the farm for a couple of weeks. They took the first to left, yes, this is it. But something was wrong. The alley the three of them just arrived, just lead to a closed area. This street was nothing but a dead end. A trick. No farm. Just a trick.

Three tousand human beings died that very year. Not in the whole world, not in that special country, but on that very courner of the city. Three tousand lifeless bodies got carried away, one by one. The rain was pooring down, the children were crying for their parents and the adults were trying their best to help the removal of the destruction. In the middle of the mess, a little family was to be found. A woman, slim and pretty, her clohes covered in mudd. The loving husband by her side, young and handsome. By their side, their little daugther, shouting. Covered in blood she shook her parents, tears rolling down her cheaks in a constant river.

The war was a fact. Destrucion was that one thing the germans knew how how to play, drop a bomb, leave the area «clean». With bowed necks, tearfull eyes and heavy hearts the unwanted humanbeings had wandered down the streets. Not a single word had been spoken, no sounds, no cryouts. They knew what was happening, but yet they did not run. Death became clearer and the senses got stronger. Every breath, smell, noice and touch was as clear as the sun. This was their faith, their destiny. Faith is not a choise, at least not for the lost ones; children and adults of the dirty world, dirt under the nails of «the clean ones», their true identity.

«Mummy ? Mum, where are you? Daddy? Oh Daddy I am scared, where are you? Please don't leave me, Mummy.» A little girl shook her mothers hand as she watched the life slip out of her eyes. She was now alone, alone in a cold, destructive world.A destructive world who wanted her dead. The walls surrounding the dead end reflecteded her cries, and flung back the scary sound, she normally would be scared, but this pain, this pressure at heart made nothing matter. Nothing else mattered than her, now dead, parents. She was only ten years old, but she had read the condescending words in the news paper. The picture from a distant land, where the bomb had fallen the day before. The children across the world who felt the same way as she did. Where did they go ? They did they find shelter, support, food and love? Where did the road home go? In this caos nobody could tell her, nobody could care for her. In the search for their loved ones that little girl became so unimpotrant, so irrelevant. Tomorrow the germans would propably hit the town by dawn, armed down to their bones, guns, cars and attidutes the devil would fear. The remaining living of the lost ones would be in great danger, to flee was their only hope, their only chance of survival.

A statue stands in a shaded place,
An angel girl with an upturned face;
Her name is written on a polished rock,
A broken heart that the world forgot.

• Martina McBride, concrete angel