if the bullets touch you, you die. —Shreya Vikram

The kids in the pool raise their toy guns to the sky and fire water, which falls back on them in teardrops. 

 

Each drop catches the light and reflects, a thousand shards of rainbows. 

 

One of the children throws their head back and sings: it’s raining, it’s raining here while the other says: if the bullets touch you, you die. 

Read more Shreya Vikram

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