“They’re friends, see?” The little girl held the paper cutouts aloft to catch the light, and their silhouettes played against the concrete shelter wall. “She’s feeding him, and he’s saying ‘thank you, thank you!’”
“That’s nice, dear.” Her mother seemed intent on willing the ceiling to hold; dust drifted down as the room shook.
“Mommy, do you think the big monsters on the news want to be friends?”
A terrible noise — a bursting steam engine of a cry — reverberated down the stairwell. A soldier finally shut the door and bolted it. “I don’t think so, honey.”
“We should ask them.”
Excellent juxtaposition.
ReplyDeleteThank you very much :-)
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