Another Wish

There is a calm shadow that envelops the site of a tragedy. A fire ravages a store and you can’t even report the theft. There’s nothing to do but sit in silence and scuff your soles against streaks of ash. War zones are often the quietest of all, contrary to what one would think.

‘Victim’ is an easy word to swallow. If you let it dissolve onto your tongue, a slight bitterness will dissipate as fast as it arrives. It is simpler to think of bodies. What they don’t tell you about ruins, however, is that there’s always something to find underneath them. It’s a strange feeling; to sift through travel and fingernails in order to find something worth searching for. If you close your eyes, you can imagine yourself to be someone else - wading through the distorted tiles of a swimming pool to catch a glint of a silver penny. If you close your eyes, you can make a wish on that coin years later, and pray for a good report card.

What they don’t tell you about a war-zone, is that you forget what it means to wish for something besides survival.

I found a broken mirror, and sighed as it cursed me. I sifted through dead flowers and my sister’s hairpins, fishbones and the undercurrent of death, until the glint of silver finally caught my eye.

I held the coin in the palm of my hand and let it leave a mark. Instead of wishing, I asked my silent Gods, “Where shall we go?”