City of Palms

I ran.
         I ran past the statues of Baal who did nothing to save us. My heart, already pounding from seeing my father's chest give birth to a spearhead, threatened to betray me. All around me the city began to burn. Smoke stung my eyes and lungs. City shops and homes turned tombs blurred past me. My hope was that the sheep gate, too small for the Moabites to use in an attack, had been left open for my escape.
         All alone I ran for safety. I could not hear the screams of others, pleading for mercy from the invader. God had taken the last of my family. If God forsakes me, why should I care for others?
         I knew a hand had tripped me by the way it gave way against my foot. Stones dug into my hands and knees. The man's legs had been crushed under rubble. Saying nothing, he stretched out the same hand that tripped me, his eyes asking me for help. I ran.
         I passed through the gate of my salvation and into the hills, finding a cluster of trees to hide in. I could still see the palm trees inside the city. The trees that I would climb and play upon in my childhood were now subject to flame.
         "Do you have any water?"
         Startled I said, "No."
         "Are you from the city?"
         "Yes, who are you?" Already agitated by his questioning.
         "I am a soldier from Moab. I fled from the army two days ago. I am sorry for your city, but please help me. I am thirsty."
         "I know where we can get water."