Civilian Casualties

Once the fire was extinguished, Ali searched the ruins. There was nothing of material value to be found—he knew this—the bomb had torn through his home as if it was made of paper mache. No, he was searching for something else, the soul of the house, the essence, the undefinable light which gave a building life. But they were gone—their bodies removed before he could see them. Their laughter; their whispered prayers; their tears; gone. It was nothing but a ruin now. No different than any other. Perhaps a photographer will take a picture and it will end up on the news. Civilian casualties they’ll call it. Maybe. Anything but the truth: dead family; murdered family; human family; Ali’s family.