hey there. this is first try at writing shorts. got stuck labeling it as a poem or a short.
i am sorry if my use of words and grammar is a bit off, being afrikaans is not helping me much at all. any comments or crit welcome, as long as its helpfull and to the point.

thank you very much... charlie

Face full of silky sand, one eye on the opening where the door had once been. The other merely a mirror of so many brutal actions aimed at the frail. Troops of soldiers marching past the light source like hunting dogs smelling prey. One little burnt hand grabs at the broken frame on the floor next to him, the frame that bound his family together in a sick reality. He is alone now.

It’s been two days since his mom had stared him in the eyes with a promise of freedom, one day since she lied and an eternity of questions why?  She said every sunrise symbolized a new beginning. That the moon had a voice so loud it could wake up the sun once more. Remembering her lids closing reminded him of sunsets. Reminded him that it would never rise again.

If he could only reach the door and stare at everything that was going on outside. One hand raked the sand hoping for grip, dragging the vessel of a fading boy ever nearer to the exit. Smoke seemed to roll inside the room like it had a purpose of its own. The ground had become uneven, making him remember his grandmother and her wrinkled face so beautifully aged.

At last one tiny finger seemed to warp around the step at the door, just one more heave would mean the ability to see what had become of all the others he used to know and name. Like a newborn child’s face greeting the tender caress of air, he beheld the street where all that mattered stayed. He found himself staring at the dusty remains of what he called familiar, all buried under scream after scream echoing endlessly.

It was warm, really warm. Pondering the point of living in a desert, seeming more and more the reason, no. He had created a pathway for the dogs to follow. A shiny red river, turning to mud in the yellow sand in which it flowed. He thought it was a dream, a nightmare of fire filled conclusions and pain. The little boy was dying, the sun setting in his eyes on this warm windy day.