The drone was omnipresent. Like a large shadow it hovered above her home, coving her house in darkness when it should have been daylight. At night it was loud, striking her friends and family with screams of its fire and anger. Her mother tried to explain to her why such a placid grey cloud should become so mad at times, but it was useless. For a child of five cannot be told why someone can hate when she had only experienced love.
When dark cloud cover disappeared the drone from sight, she was joyous. She didn’t understand the subconscious pressure the drone caused upon her parents, but she knew the relaxing feeling when it was no longer there.

She had first seen the drone when she was young. She had been playing in the grass outside her home. In those days daisies and violets had appeared in the morning, spreading their colour upon the dark earth. She had been rolling throughout the green grass, picking flowers so as to present her mother with a bouquet. She had thought a thunderstorm was coming, as she watched the grey cloud take up the sky. She had been scared, because thunderstorms were unusual and she had never liked them. But she had been wrong; a thunderstorm would have been far better then what appeared.

Some days she still thought that if she prayed hard enough, or wished upon stars throughout the night, or even if she closed her eyes tight and thought of life before the drone, it might go away. But no matter how hard she tried it never left,and she got tired of dreaming for the impossible.

For the drone was ubiquitous, in conversation and in thoughts. At school her teacher tried to educate them about other subjects, about different wars and even times of peace, but she couldn’t listen. When a thing so big sat in the sky above her head, she knew that it was the only subject worth thinking of. When it obviously threatened her home, she knew it was the only thing she wanted to learn of. Maybe that way she could trick the drone at it’s own game.

But she knew that it was no game. She had seen the bodies, far more then her parents had thought she had. It was impossible to miss them, impossible to pretend that the violence wasn’t real. She had experienced too much, although her youth should have given cause for her exemption. But nothing was spared the drone’s horrible rage and her own uncle had been the first to be buried. Her mother had wept and her father had cursed the sky, but they could do nothing more. She had seen the lines of helplessness appear on their faces, and knew that she could expect nothing more. They provided for her as all parents should but some things were just out of their control.

Although the village hated it and her grandparents wished death upon those who had commissioned it, the drone stayed. Life went on around it. It had power upon them, but they in turn inflicted power upon it. For the true miracle was that it could not expel laughter and happiness. People would always live, no matter the conditions placed upon them, and although the drone floated dangerously above, it just floated. One day it would leave and all it would become was a bad memory, something to tell her grandchildren about. Something she could proudly had lived through. Just like learning about the bitterest war, she knew her people could still survive.