Both the land and the population had been decimated by the falling bombs. It was our only hope of freedom, and it cost everything we had left. We ended up on a rather rickety boat that got pushed out from the shore.
There were way too many of us on this boat for it to be safe. All we could do was huddle with our children and pray for luck.
The crossing was going to take at least a month and we kept on hitting bad weather. There was no way of knowing how we managed to survive from being capsized many a time. Failure happened every step of the way, and yet, somehow, we kept going. By the time the call came out to say we had reached land everyone was just about starving. We were so eager to get off the boat and start our brand-new lives in a place where there was no threat of war.
Excitedly we watched as a mass appeared from the mist. For a moment, we all just stared at those White Cliffs of Dover. A collective groan began as we realised we had come full circle and were back where we started.
Written for Sunday photo fiction