He remembered the story in the old testament about the oil container that never emptied. How the mother and child had enough for them and the guest they had taken in.
He remembered the story of David versus Goliath and why there were three stones.
He remembered the story of the stone soup and wished he had some now.
He remembered the chicken soup and rice and where the wild things were. What happened after the accident – well, that was all a blur.
But amidst the rubble of the looted store, one unbroken, plain bowl on the floor. He cupped it with his tiny hands, this treasure to behold. Whatever the limited use, the scarce resources, he’d dream of more than gold.
Of what remained and what was lost, he was somewhere in between. But once he’d find a decent shelter, he’d allow himself time to dream