Stray

‘Come on love hold still!’ She urges the struggling child, hoping to tame her long enough to get her coat on. ‘But Mama I don’t wanna wear a coat!’ the child whines in protest.
‘Please love hold still, we’re goin’ to be late,’ pleads Mama. They leave the house, and walk past the smoldering remains of burnt out buses and charred skeletons of taxis that litter the street, the result of the most recent round of rioting in the city. They cross the street at the as yet unfinished mural of the recently deceased M.P Bobby Sands, which adorns the gable end of the terrace.

‘Mama look! A three legged doggy! They’re lucky if you pet them!’ She screams excited, wriggling free from her mother’s grasp, and running to pet the animal amputee.
‘Love leave that mangy stray alone! You don’t know where it’s been!’ Mama says while in pursuit before pulling her away from the vagrant canine. Mama restores an iron-cast grip on her small hand. ‘Mama what’s a stray?’
‘Strays have no family, they’re alone.’
‘Mama why don’t we take the doggy home? Then it won’t be a stray.’
Mama sighs, ‘because we can barely feed the mouths already in our home. Now hush till we get through the check-point.’

They approach anxious war weary soldiers who are worn down by the constant threat from an invisible enemy. Mama begins to explain their purpose for leaving the falls when the firing begins. She feels the air whip around her, hears the crack of the ricochet that sends a bullet stray. She is startled by the hot viscous liquid that suddenly drenches her face, frozen by the sight of her mother’s body slumping to the ground. Her small paw is still prisoner to Mama’s grip. Shaken by terror, the sound of assault rifles is muffled, seeming distant. She turns, catching sight of the three legged stray dog. Their eyes meet. They understood each other at once.