Summary: “If I ask you to name all the things you love, how long will it take for you to name yourself?” A story on finding hope, forgiveness and love in a world they never imagined they would survive. Post-MJ. Previously
7. Generation War
Hope is like a harebell trembling from its birth. - Christina Rossetti
The Village seemed different at night.
There was a lone street lamp at the front gate leading into the Village. Since the district was still struggling with electricity, most of it was routed to the Town Centre and to people’s home. Ensuring that the streets in the district had enough lights was still work in progress and that solitary lamp casting a dim glow over the village was something they should all be thankful for.
Above her, the sky was littered with stars which in a way helped. That night, Effie wandered out to the porch, a small kerosene lamp in hand.
She settled down on the white rattan chair with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, staring at the sky.
“Can’t sleep?” asked a familiar voice, calling from across.
Effie search for him in the dark, bringing the lamp closer to her eyes. “Haymitch?”
“Yeah, right here,” he waved.