Dusk. The tall trees along the trail cast shadows on the the path leading to the house. Emma leaned over Franz, checked his pulse, it was weak, he had been wounded, blood was seeping from the cuts, his face was covered with dirt. Emma ran to the house for some water. It turned darker by the minute. She rushed back, could hardly see his wounds, Emma started to tremble as she started to wash his face. Emma’s life had been filled with turbulence, pain and difficulties. She had lost her husband years ago and often driven to the verge of collapse. Emma was a stoic, in the most dire trials her perseverance gave her strength to test and discover her inner-strength, and she went on to reach out to others. It had become quiet dark, Emma could only see a man lying on the dusty path, the fog had embraced Franz in its grip. Emma kept washing the dirt of his face, at that moment she didn’t feel that it was Franz, in retrospect she saw the body of her late husband, lying there in a pool of blood, his life had been cut short by daunting, ramping change of the country that took place.
……… to be continued………….
