One substantial hole in the roof torn asunder by flaming projectiles revealed rising smoke. The burning stench of collapsed lumber and forestry fills the shack's interior. Out from under the table crept little Grady Simms.
Grady had been studying her times tables before her parents warned her to hide under the table. A deafening blast had followed, shaking the ground at her feet.
Now standing outside her devastated home, Grady called for her parents. Only distant cries responded in the hollow silence of the village. Fires dotted the landscape as she made her way to the edge of the village, desperate to flee the smell of death.
Grady followed the only dirt road connecting the neighboring villages and stopped beside a large cloth in the road. Looking closer, she realized it was a flag. A lump in the center of the flag stirred, and under it a baby boy cowered.
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