Wooden Tears

When they pulled her out, it's true that she started to wail and scream for him. The men attempted to keep her in their powdery arms, but she managed to break away. Desperate humans often seem able to do this. 

She did not know where she was running, for the street no longer existed. Everything was new and apocalyptic. Why was the sky red? How could it be snowing? And why did the snowflakes burn her arms?

She slowed to a staggering walk and concentrated up ahead. 

She wandered a short while longer until the man who found her took her arm and kept talking. "You're just in shock, my girl. It's just shock, you're going to be fine"

"What's happened?" she asked. 

The man had disappointed eyes. What had he seen these past few years? "You got bombed, my girl. I'm sorry, darling"

The girls mouth wandered on, even if her body was now still. She had forgotten her previous wails for him. That was years ago - a bombing will do that. She said, "We have to get my papa, my mama..."

Her body buckled at that moment and the man caught her and sat her down. "We'll move her in a minute" he told his sergeant.

Papa was a man with silver eyes, not dead ones. 

Papa was an accordion!

But his bellows were all empty.

Nothing went in and nothing came out. 

She began to rock back and forth. A shrill, quiet, smearing note was caught somewhere in her mouth until she was finally able to turn.

To Papa.

At that point, I couldn't help it. I walked around, to see her better, and from the moment I witnessed her face again, I could tell that this was who she loved the most. Her expression stroked the man on his face. It followed one on the lines down his cheek. 

Papa-the accordionist. 

One could not exist without the other. 

She turned around and spoke to the man. 

"Please", she said, "My Papa's accordion. Could you get it for me?"

After a  few minutes of confusion, an older member brought the eaten case and she opened it. She removed the injured instrument and laid it next to Papa's body.

"Here, Papa"

And I can promise you one thing, because it was a thing I saw many years later, that as she kneeled next to him, she watched him stand and play the accordion. He stood and strapped it on in the Alps of broken houses. There were silver eyes. There was a cigarette slouched on his lips. He even made a mistake and laughed in lovely hindsight.  The bellows breathed and the tall man played for her one last time as the sky was slowly taken from the stove. 

Keep playing, Papa.

Papa stopped. 

He dropped the accordion and his silver eyes continued to rust. There was only a body now, on the ground, and she lifted him up and hugged him. She wept over his shoulder.

"Goodbye, Papa"

Her arms held him. She kissed his shoulder - she couldn't bear to look at his face anymore - and she placed him down again.

And she wept until she was gently taken away.