We hurdled low. Pressed the caves of our chests to the floor to silence our fear. To escape the popping sounds pelting the cars, shattering the windows. Just as quickly as it started, everywhere became quiet. No one dared to move. I could no longer feel blood flow between the fingers my wife gripped so tightly.
“Are they gone?” she whispered.
I shook my head to say, “I don't know”, “Is who gone?”, “Don't speak”, “No”
Everything I wanted to say was stretched between two letters, ‘N’ and ‘O’.
She reads me like she always does and stayed quiet. We fell asleep that way. My body partially over hers, our hands holding each other on the cold floor.
When I woke up, I was alone.
Pushing myself to my feet, I walked towards the voices coming from the next room. My wife draped over our neighbour, comforting her, trying to hush her cries
“They came again!
“They came again and now I have lost everything!”, the woman cried.
It would seem everyone on our street was weeping, one louder than the other, Mourning the bodies on the street in our homes, property we barely owned. Loud soul-crushing cries that pierced the ghetto'
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