by Sarah Snowdon
Helen's class had chosen baseball for their activity on a sunny afternoon last July. She was chosen third last for the red team and she felt this wasn't bad. Waiting in anticipation, she watched her team-members go up to bat, most of them flailing awkwardly at the ball.
They were losing, four to three, when it came to Helen's turn. Having no idea of how to bat, she approached home-plate, her second-hand running shoes kicking up dust from the sand and gravel. The pitcher eyed her bat as he set up. As the ball flew through the air, Helen did not think, she simply moved enough the right way to hit the ball at the right angle and off it went, flying into left field.
And the team shouted in unison: "Go!" So she ran past first, second, landing on third base. The dusty wind blew in conflicting directions, coating her throat as she breathed in.
When she stopped, she glanced around the diamond, her classmates were all cheering her on gleefully. She smiled.
Eight months later, the morning sun was shining and the air was crisp as she set out on foot for the marketplace located in the historical core of Sarajevo. She checked her mother's list: potatoes, a chicken, one bag of sugar and milk.
It took nearly 20 minutes to walk from the mountainside to the market. Alyna Kowall, Helen's best friend from school, was there that day. They met up at the corner where the strange man sold fruit and polished shoes at the same kiosk.
"Alyna, do you want to come with me? I have to get these things for mama."
"I was supposed to meet with Frankie, but he must have forgotten or just went home," replied Alyna, his sister. Two young boys made circles around them with their bicycles before they peddled faster and out of sight down an alleyway.
"Come with me, we'll go together," said Helen, and they took off around the corner.
They laughed and played while visiting each vendor. Once they had finished with Helen's list, they started heading back when a deafening noise echoed from 100 feet away and violently shook the ground beneath them. Helen's jaw went limp. She covered her ears and hit the ground. Muffled voices and soft cries were heard over the clamour of the explosion. Smoke and fear permeated the air, and everything went dark. She cried out, "Alyna!" but could not hear her reply.
The red-brick wall crumbled as young Helen inched her way towards the front of the building where the national flag hung torn and wilted. Her white slip dress was smeared with dirt; her flimsy shoes stepped on jagged, dime-sized rocks. I will not get caught, she thought to herself. Mama needs me.
Her heart raced, sweat dripped down her face. She breathed heavily as she made her way around the building. Once she could make out a clear path through the debris, she would run.
Disoriented, she thought back to that day at school, when the team said: "Go!" She dropped her groceries and ran. She did not stop until she got home. She ran through the smoke, the bodies, the debris, and the hills.
