The years had not been easy, in truth they had been hard. Countless times we lived on the edge, we came face to face with death. One by one they succumbed to the trials and I wept, grieving them each in turn. I wore the scars on my body, but deep in my soul, the wounds did not heal. They forced me forward, gave me a strength I didn’t have. Solitary, I stood, a testament to the past, but I was not alone. Their spirits stood with me, coiled around me, protected me. They dared death to take me and we knew he would not.
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer