The child stood motionless. Ten years growth. Mentally wounded, body pitted and bloodied. His skin exposed to the light, to the shade, to the elements that owned the space he occupied. Sound was no more. A loudness replaced by the beating of his heart forcing fluid through his body. Wave after wave after wave. Relentless. A notice that he still lived.

No steps came to his feet. No movement to eyes that once shone. Face camouflaged with dried blood and debris, unrecognisable even to his family.

Had he been able to hear he would have heard sirens, screaming, shouting, loss. He would have recognised beyond his numbness the need to react to the world around him. To help and therefore be helped. War had replaced peace. The injustice of the few had sacrificed more than they were entitled. Had taken what was not theirs to take. The question is not why, the answer is because they are able.  We the people enable. We follow as sheep the orders given. We feast on lies to cause pain and suffering. We whisper half-truths. We know in our hearts the way forward and the real strength needed to walk a harder path.

Our hearts break.