5 minutes inspired by a picture.
I can't work out how to copy it, but you can see it here. http://inkpaperpen.blogspot.com/2011/07/sit-under-tree-and-writeits-write-on.html
No-one knew of course. She could never let them know or too many would be at risk. The warnings had been rumbles of mumbles and murmurs, but none had heeded them. Not in their land, not in their homes.
Of course, the political word had been out, that there would be change when the new regime took over, but the extremes that it would go to were never envisaged. As the daughter of a city academic, life had been comfortable, never the sunburnt toil of the country folk. School, enough to eat, a pretty home, space of their own.
And then the trucks and the soldiers, the dictation of enforced poverty and an agrarian state. Just yesterday the neighbours were taken, told that their new life would be in service of the better good. The screams of the children still echoed in her ears.
She ran to the tree, in the green glade, a special place, her special place. Checking over her shoulder, she made sure she had not been seen. A tear dropped as she slipped her treasures into the rootspace.