Creative Writing: Rosarita-A Tear

Rosarita - rosie

A tear. A single salty tear drips down a face that has known so much terror yet understands so little. A whimper, calling for comfort. A mouth, which has not seen food for days. Little feet, dragging through the mud, thick with clay and lost belongings. Her eyes trail around her, searching through the sea of canvas for something familiar, something she can recognise as hers. "Rosarita… Rosie?" a plaintive cry stops her and she whips around, she needs to find this voice, it fills her with hope, with calm. She scrambles around ropes and stakes and is swept into the arms she calls her home, because she has not had a home with four solid walls and a roof in a very long time. For now, her family is what supports her.

“Mummmmaa…” a little voice threads its way through the darkness. The plush carpet springs back from the steps which wavered its length, wall a smeary mess, lovingly placed crayon stains and finger prints pepper
In the midst of it sits a girl waiting with only her instructions for company, to follow what she was told and do it without complaint. She has nothing to complain about, she is free, free from the life she left behind. Her mother is long gone, as are memories bound to her soul, such as the time when the gunfire and explosions would not cease replaying in her eyes and ears, her mother wrapping herself around her like flames envelope the timber which fuels its light, and the voice of warmth and spirit recited rich stories of princesses with long golden hair and dragons who shone in the moonlight, these were the good times, and times long gone. “Rosarita?” She lifts her head at the sound of her name, the official speaking quickly in a language she knew to be English but she could not pick out words through the thick American accent. The translator gives a brief outline on her new paradise, hiding the foster home in swirls of education and sprinkles of a welcoming