The sky was no longer blue.
It was loud.
Too loud.
Jory had never heard the world scream like that before.
Her father's arms tightened around her
as another explosion shook the ground beneath them.
"Stay close to me," he whispered.
She nodded,
but her eyes were still searching the sky.
The white lines were everywhere now.
Crossing… falling… disappearing into smoke.
Nothing looked like the drawings she used to make.
Nothing felt safe.
People were running outside.
Voices filled the streets—
shouting, crying, calling names that no one answered.
Jory held her father's hand tightly.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"To somewhere safer," he said.
But his voice didn't sound sure.
They left the house quickly.
Jory didn't take her toys.
She didn't take her clothes.
But she stopped for one second…
just one.
She ran back.
Her father called her name,
but she didn't answer.
She grabbed her small box of crayons.
And her notebook.
Then she ran back to him.
"I need them," she said softly.
He looked at her for a moment…
then nodded.
"Okay… we take them."
They walked into the street.
Dust filled the air.
The sun was hidden behind gray clouds.
Everything looked… broken.
Jory had never seen her city like this before.
It didn't look like home.
They kept moving.
Step after step.
Sound after sound.
Fear after fear.
Jory didn't cry.
She didn't scream.
She just held her crayons tighter…
as if they were the only thing
that still made sense in this world.
And deep inside her small heart…
a question was growing.
If everything is breaking…
can colors fix it?