It was a year and a half ago last Sunday when we all took the moment of silence to remember the devastation that everyone went through.  Nobody saw it coming,and no warnings were given; it was just a sudden wall of water and then before I knew it I woke up to people screaming. One giant flood consumed and swallowed up our village, or so it seemed it did. The first thing I think of when it comes to mind is that little boy’s face. When I looked around he was the first sign of peace I could see. Waking up to death and destruction doesn't exactly put you in a happy place, but he was able to. I found him strapped down underneath a market stand crouched down  in the water. He asked me what happened and I told him that I didn’t really know. He then asked me if we were going to be alright and if we could find his mom.               

We proceeded to walk through the swamp-like streets and call for anyone we could possibly find. It was an empty area, people were taken from right under their feet and pummeled down to the ground. After hours which eventually turned into days of searching I had  to break down and tell him that I didn’t think anyone survived but us two. It was a hard thing for us both to realize and comprehend. We became the survivors. We attempted to make  do with anything that we could find around us. A raft was the first thing we created, figuring that we could drift to surrounding villages looking for more survivors.  It took what seemed like forever to reach the closest one only five miles away. That’s when we found the rest of the boys family, floating down the river. I never would have expected to find what I did. The young boy couldn’t take any more. We were the survivors, the only survivors