"The Aftermath" by Clíodhna RussellThe door, shot through with bullets, refuses to close; a single hinge is all that stands between us and them. Outside, nothing is to be heard but the raucous laughter of beasts who hide beneath a mask of polished buttons and khaki. In the distance a loose bullet tears through the streets and I wonder who has left us tonight.
Huddled beside me is my brother, whimpering like a wounded dog. In the moonlight his tears glisten like stray pearls. The house is as cold as the night outside, but we dare not light a fire. We have not seen Father since last Sunday. News of a bloody slaughter reached us the next day; I have not left the house since. "Bridget?" He dares not raise his voice above a whisper. He knows what will happen if they find us. "Where is Mammy?" I swallow the blackberry-sized lump in my throat and feel the telltale prickle in my eyes. I must not cry - for Samuel's sake. I take a shuddering breath and turn to him. "Mammy's gone out for a bit. She'll be back soon." "Will she bring us something to eat?" A warm tear trickles down my cheek, and despite it, I smile and nod. "She'll come back with fresh bread and jam, if we're good." He wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his coat and settles against me, satisfied - for now. I do not know what I will tell him when Mother does not return. Before long, I will have to venture out for food. Sometime over the past few months, I have become a woman, and it I am not careful I will meet the same end as Mother. The house is quiet except for a low creaking - the creaking of a single, rusting hinge.
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