"Rush! Hurry! We must get off the street before anyone realizes we've left. "
"Because I said so."
"Because he's bleeding, Mum? Is that why?" I grasped the edge of her suitcase, let it carry me along, my feet nearly leaving the ground. Breathless, visions of things much different from sugar plums. Blood. Screams, a distant siren, the smell of cordite. Done. Rush! Move! NOW! Hungry, what, no time. Leave the cat.
Down the stairs, falling, falling, falling out onto the cobblestones. Scent of mum's sweat mixed with tobacco, and the stench of death. Train sounds. Off to what? New?
Leave the cat.
No! Kitty. Cram in suitcase. No time! Bruises on my bottom. Stops hurting, stops making me want to puke if I take short breaths. Penises hurt.
Mum. Running. Now.
I told. Crying, gasping for air. Stench of blood. My bottom hurts. I want to stop