the sanctuary

It was the height of the war. The enemies came and took control of everything. We tried to fight but we were powerless held against our own will right at our own backyard. Gone were the days where we could roam our fields carelessly without fear and panic. I can no longer afford to spend my days as a child. 

Many have fallen victims to the savagery that ensued. Life is hard, but everybody needs to continue on living. We still need to tend to our fields hoping that no enemy took notice. 


Despite the risk of being captured, I took the initiative to go to our small patch of land. It is a two-hour walk from our house. It is situated beside the Lumsoc river which snakes its way inwards to the rocky interiors of Mt. Lumsoc. Our garden is small, but it is where we grow staples away from the prying eyes of the invaders. A few meters away is a waterfall making a thunderous thud as its water joins the river, a serene and scenic view to behold The rocks are enveloped with mosses and lichens as they attach themselves in the rocky outcrops. Hidden from view, it has become a sanctuary.


I continued with my usual routine of pulling weeds and watering the crops. Then I heard  a gunshot. A few seconds later, I heard another one.


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