THE PICTURE

The smoke burned her eyes. Tears streamed down her face as she picked her way through the smoldering remains. The firetrucks had left, and all that remained in the vacant lot were the few bystanders who were shivering in their light bathrobes.

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She didn’t want their sympathy. She didn’t want their pity. All she wanted was her family.

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The moonlight reflected off something that was half buried in the rubble.

Reaching down to pick it up, she lost her balance and tripped. The ground was littered with sharp stones, and her body screamed in pain as it came in contact with them- but no noise came out.

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Ignoring the blood that poured from her knees, she scrambled for the item that had caught the moon’s attention.

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A photo.

Hands shaking and breath shortening, she let her eyes feast on the subject. It wasn’t a particularly flattering photo, but now it was all she had She sat on her heels and slowly took in every detail of the picture.

A little boy.

A little boy with her childhood golden hair. 

He was laughing in the photo. His bright blue eyes were flashing with merriment, and his chubby cheeks were rosy red. He was wearing his favorite red shirt- the one that said “Mommy’s Little Hero”.

She bit her lip as the memories assaulted her. His first smile. His first laugh. The first time he hugged her of his own accord. His very first word.

“Mama.”

Her heart broke as she remembered his little lisp and innocent eyes.

And she cried.