The First Time

He woke, startled, his dreams were nightmares but had faded. It was quiet, he could not remember the last time that he had woken up to virtual silence. He could hear some movement but nothing that perturbed him.

He was in a bed, that was the first shock, it was clean and warm, but he was still bleary-eyed. There was a sink and mirror with a toothbrush, soap, and a razor. There was a bedside cabinet with a sheet with notes about his accommodation.

He pulled up the blind and was shocked at what he saw.

He could not comprehend it at all.

What was it that he was seeing?

He was alone and almost in shock.

He had fled the civil war and found his way across Africa, by truck and caravan and on foot. His family had been murdered as he watched, they had hidden him in a cupboard.

Then he was on a crowded boat on the Mediterranean, it barely made the Northern shore and they were chased off by locals with sticks.

Crossing Europe was another nightmare, he was hungry and cold most of the time but tagged on with others who said they could find free passage on another boat.

This boat was even more unseaworthy than the last.

The next landing was his last and he collapsed on the beach, the others left him, the boat in pieces on the shingle.

Now he was here, this was the first time he had seen snow.