bus & bullets

It is night. I am hiding by the side of the road, holding a baby girl. I am with a couple of others and we are waiting for the right moment to run across the road and board the bus that is about to go. We can see men carrying guns further up the road, roaming about, and watch as others attempt to run to the bus – some make it and others fall, randomly killed by the men. Almost everyone is aboard the bus and we cannot wait any longer. We make a run for it, our bodies almost doubled over as we cross the street, moving quickly but sticking to the shadows. I shield the baby with my body. We make it unscathed onto the bus and find seats toward the front. I notice that I am perspiring and panting from the dash and panic. I am relieved that we are not hurt but then I look at the baby. She is very still and her eyes are half closed. I ask her if she is alright and pull up her dress; she has been shot in the stomach. The bullet is wedged inside the wound and I don’t know what to do to save the baby. She reaches up and pulls the bullet out. There is very little blood and I simply close the skin back over, trusting that she will heal quickly. I even imagine that in later life she will have a scar with a story. The bus departs and we drive through the night. Much later, I am hungry. I move to the back of the bus to make a snack. I find rice crackers, honey and cheese, so I cover the crackers in honey, spreading it with my fingers, and place cheese chunks on top. I make enough for several others.