The Orphan

This story has been written in response to L.C. Schäfer's proposal to spend 2024 losing my mind...sorry, I mean, choosing to write a microfiction story every day, making 366 stories for every day of this lovely leap year. You can check her original story out here:

Prompt number six:

6th (World Day of War Orphans) Write a story about a child orphaned by war.

***

"Mama?"

The little girl sat next to her mother. Her small hand patted her mother's face. Both were cold. The little girl was wondering why her mother wasn't moving at all. She wanted her to move so much.

"Mama?"

Her mother remained still. The little girl started to cry. Her nose was running and her tummy hurt. Normally, if she called to her, her mother would pick her up and hold her, and although the little girl expected this, she would still be filled with warmth and comfort.

"Wake up time, Mama! Wake up time!" The little girl used the tone that her mother used to coax her out of bed. It always worked and usually ended in cuddles but she hadn't slept in her bed for a long time now. She usually nestled against her mother on one side with her father on the other. She didn't know where her father was. He had gone outside where the loud bangs were to look for food.

She didn't like it when her father went but he always came back with something: berries, or a small egg. Once, an apple!

The little girl brightened at the thought of a sweet, crunchy apple. It contrasted starkly with the ruined house in which they sheltered, the ravages of war's seering teeth shown in the jagged walls and the open roof, the tear in the tiles highlighting the cold, blue sky.

She lay down next to her mother and put her thumb in her mouth. Her mother did not respond to the nudge her daughter gave her as she settled to sleep.

The little girl's eyes closed as she held onto her bear. Sleep was about to take her when she heard scrabbling in the doorway, where the rubble gathered.

She sat up, Blue Bear close to her face.

"Dada?"

A man appeared in the doorway. Khaki with a gun.

"Hello, little one," the man said, kindly.

Not her father. She wanted to cry again.

"Let's get you out of here," and he lifted her away from her dead mother.

He held her close, soothing her whimpers as he fought his own tears.

God, he hoped his Maisie was okay.

***

365 words

No authorial insight here. I'll let the story speak for itself and the savagery and tragedy of war but also its humanity.

For the list of prompts that L.C. has provided for January to get you moving, if you want to partake, go to the link below. It also provides links to everybody else who has joined in the challenge:

Thanks for stopping by. If you've read this story, please do leave a comment as I love to interact with my readers.

6/366

Postscript: My 5/366 had not been published at the time I submitted this due to Vocal being hacked, but if you read this before 5/366, I did write something on the fifth day. Honest. Hopefully, it will arrive from the ether soon for your consumption if it hasn't already.