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.
