Sofia Vasquez

The sun had completely risen, a truthful Brooklyn sun that showed no mercy and sought no pardon. It illuminated each injury every rip in fabric every streak of blood and ash on our bodies as if documenting proof. I noticed the tang and coffee grounds in the air. Nearby an elderly man was shouting at the TV news, about " another blasted explosion " while a baby cried out hungry and breathing. Typical noises. Real sounds.

I remained the one still standing tall as it was necessary. ...