by Elizabeth Challinor

One cold winter morning 

Awareness was catapulted 


Out of her cosy bubble

She looked around 

Eyes wide with fright

So many different faces

Angry, sad, crying, shouting, mad

Longing for the comfort of her slippers

She closed her eyes

But the images had become ingrained in her brain

So she opened her eyes tentatively again

To see a little boy

Bending down

Blowing on a dandelion

Majestically upright in the dried cracked ground

Catapulted from its bubble

The pollen burst like confetti into the child's delighted face 

The sound of distant gunfire punctuated the air

The boy turned his head to stare

Then caught sight of Awareness 

Ashamed of longing for her slippers

She held out a welcoming hand

The little boy smiled and said

He had promised to return home at the slightest sound of a gun

He turned away and began to run

Awareness watched him disappear

Into the middle of a growing crowd

And standing upright 

Amidst trampling feet

Became a dandelion

Rooted in the ground

Elizabeth Challinor