Who do we call the enemy, my children, my children?
Who do we call the enemy?
"Mama, am I going to die?" the small silver haired boy asked timidly, "I don't wanna die."
"Shhh...you're not going to die," Izayoi cooed, trying to mask the fear in her voice, "We're going to be okay."
"But...but they told us Daddy died because he was sick and...and he lived with us," the child murmured anxiously as he clung desperately to his mother's skirt. When his mother remained quiet, the boy stuck his thumb into his mouth and buried his face as a menacing looking officer wearing a medical mask passed by them.
"Daddy wasn't supposed to live with us," she finally answered softly as she stroked his small puppy like ear gently, "He broke the rules but we'll be okay."
"Oh," the boy choked out as tears began running down his face, "I...I miss Daddy."
"I know," his mother sighed as she bent over to pick him up and place him on her hip before getting on the bus, "I do too."
Nuzzling her neck, the silver haired boy clung to his mother as though she was the only thing in the world that mattered.