He should’ve gotten on the train.

He could’ve been in the countryside with his sister.

But he didn’t want to leave Mother in the city. Not with the air raids and bombs falling.

Then he had gotten lost trying to get home from the station. The old lady found him and took him to her house, gave him soup and a bed.

In the morning she promised to take him back to his home.

The old lady was probably dead now, buried under the rubble of her house, just like him.

Through the small gap between the masonry that held him captive he could see the sun rising. He tried to call out. The crushing weight on his chest strangled his cries.

With his free hand he put his fingers round the emerging orb, like he was holding it.

Hold on to the light, he thought. His eyes closed. As he drifted away he heard a faint shout.

‘Over here. Bring a stretcher.’

I’m coming, Mum. I just have to hold on to the light.

Written as part of Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. The challenge is to write a flash fiction story in around 150 – 175 words, based on the weekly photo prompt. Thanks as always to the challenge host Priceless Joy. For more information visit HERE.

To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit HERE.