Trenches
Mother: what’s wrong my child (as she wipes the tears and cold sweat off her child’s damp face)
Child: I have the most wicked dreams.
Mother: what is it so wicked that you dream of?
Child: I dream of war.
Mother: what war? We are not at war, you are safe my sweet Angel.
Child: I am at war with this world.
Mother: what on earth do you mean little one?
Child: I was never meant for this world, but I am here and must live through it.
Mother: that is a war that I too fight, every day.
Child: then, will you teach me how to fight mama.
Mother: of course, that is why you are my child and I am your mother. We will walk this world together and we will triumph over anyone or thing that tries to vere us off course.
Child: ok, can I hold your hand though?
Mother: my hand isn’t a hand unless it is holding yours.
