She played hopscotch along the driveway toward the house, making sure that she didn’t hop outside the boxes despite there being no one to compete with. Even so, she made the extra effort.

As she hit the final box, she hopped out, spun around in the air, and slammed both of her feet down onto the concrete. Dust flew up in a thick cloud, so dense it made her eyes water and tickle her throat to the point she thought she might cough.

Her eyes wandered down to the end of the driveway where her bicycle was leading on its kickstand. The left handlebar didn’t have a rubber grip on it, and with the scorching heat that permeated almost every hour of the day, sometimes she just steered with one hand. That’d have to do until the blisters on her left hand calloused over, then it wouldn’t be such a big deal.

But now it was time. Time to go. Time to say good bye.

She turned around to the home that had been turned to rubble by an errant SCUD missile a few blocks over. They called it collateral damage, but she called it a dead mom, a dead dad, and a dead sister. She called it motivation.

Whoever did this would pay, and they would feel the entire weight of her pain trapped beneath that cobblestone.