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  • Writer's pictureEleonora Soteriou

Wide Eyes

After the explosion with the boldness of a thunderstorm, smoky darkness dribbled its dust across our faces. But I still saw her through stinging, sandy eyes, grabbed her right hand tightly; in her left she still held her doll. But when I wished to move no movement came at all. So we just stood there. And held our breath.

Through the upturned dust, I saw them run - The ghosts of so many familiar figures, with no destination except the embrace of terror.

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