A seed, a growing flower. So beautifully small yet vibrant and pink.

Sitting and consumed by paint and paper. 

 

The screeching, the cracks in her voice. 

The broken blinds I peek through, while crouching onto the icy tiles. 

I see a broken woman and two bodies flattened on the concrete.

Screaming of parents nearby telling children to hide.

I check the household, I pierce my heart shut and tell myself to focus on my mind. 

I find my family well.

Trembling of uncertainty of life and the fulfilling of potential success.

I await news. 

 

As the youngest, but to be strong and protective.

I knew then, this was the moment I became anew. 

The younger self was swept off into reality and strength.

The children nearby came to me for guidance. 

 

The woman continued. She wept. A melancholy moment of departure.

A bullet wound so deep it radiated in her scream. 

The terror I witness made me blossom.

That moment of red uncertainty cleaned with water.

 

Gratefulness for life, grew within me. 

And in that growth, adulthood bloomed.

A seed, a child. A fully bloomed flower, an adult.