The passing of time had left her without family. She felt as if she came from a totally different universe to todays young people. The old neighbourhood that had once nourished her, now frightened her. Graffiti covered almost every inch of the external walls of her home, and now both the boys and girls of the town had taken to using the roof of her home for urban acrobatics which they called free running. Well she wished that they would leave her home out of their athletics.
The sound of breaking glass brought her out into her tiny garden. Her two walking sticks kept her upright as she surveyed the shattered bell cloches. Then she saw the blooded culprit, a young dark haired girl. Nearby stood a boy who she later would come to know as Elijah. She lowered herself to the ground, then bound a deep gash from which blood was flowing profusely. Find her father or mother, boy, and be quick about it, if you wish to save the girl. As Alyssa cradled the child, memories of cradling her own dying child flooded back. As she watched another child die, she prayed for her own release instead.
It is strange what a difference a few hours can make. For the last forty eight hours I have totally struggled with a 200 word story called ‘Mr Thompson’; yet this story ‘Change or Die’ literally flew onto my writing pad.