photo by Arnaud Mesureur via Unsplash
‘Keep under the floodlights,’ said Mumma. ‘It’ll be warmer under there.’
So that’s where we stood, Polly, Mumma and me – me sandwiched between them, glimpsing the flood of frightened, muddy people. Everybody seemed to be hurt – nobody was bandaged or cleaned.
I hid behind Polly as the fighting broke out around us. Food. It was over food a lady said. I think that’s what she said – she was crying.
Then the floodlights guttered, spat. Went out.