THE WORLD THAT REMAINS

The house stood in ruins, its walls cracked and crumbling, as if mourning the memories they once held. The broken window was covered with a tattered cloth that fluttered weakly with the evening breeze. The fading sunlight cast long shadows across the floor, emphasizing the emptiness that surrounded her.

She sat on the cold ground, holding a worn-out doll in her hands, her fingers tracing its torn seams. The dirt on her face did little to hide the hollow exhaustion in her eyes, yet there was something else there—something fierce, something unyielding. She whispered to the doll, her voice heavy with sorrow.

“You’re still here with me, aren’t you?” she murmured, gently cradling it. “But that day… that terrible day… when fire rained from the sky and turned everything to ashes—I tried to reach for you, but you slipped from my hands.”

Her voice trembled, the weight of those memories pressing down on her. The screams, the chaos, the unbearable wails—those sounds still echoed in her ears. How many had she lost? How many faces had vanished before her eyes? Her home, her life, everything she had built… reduced to dust.

Tears welled up, but she didn’t wipe them away. “But I lived. Why? Why was I the one left behind? For my daughter’s memories? For my dreams?” She shook her head. “No… I lived because something inside me refused to die. Something whispered to me, ‘You must go on. You must fight.’”

Her voice, fragile a moment ago, now carried a quiet strength.

“But this… this existence, this survival—it is not easy. Every evening, when the sun sets, I remember the fire that stole everything from me. And every night, as darkness takes over, I wonder… will there ever be light again?”

She closed her eyes, pressing the doll to her chest. “My little girl… you are not here, but your memories stay with me. You remind me not to give up, to stand again, to live again. But how? How do I live when everything I dreamed of has been shattered?”

Her fingers clutched the doll tighter. A long silence followed before she whispered, almost as if speaking to herself, “I will not surrender. I cannot. Because you are with me. Because I need to tell the world what war truly does—not just to buildings, but to the hearts and souls of people.”

Her voice steadied, a fire igniting within her. “And I… I will rise again. I will fight—not with weapons, but with truth. I will tell our stories. I will find the answers to the questions war has left behind.”

She fell silent, staring at the broken world around her. The distant sound of sirens filled the air, yet she did not flinch. Her grip on the doll remained firm, her eyes unblinking, ready for whatever came next.