He looked around to see his work once again, a large field cultivated with various plants. These are the product of his sweat now cut down and scattered carelessly on the field. "I hate war" he mumbled, all he had ever worked for burned down by the fire from the disassembled grenade, one could hardly recognise the field that a few weeks ago was flourishing with green plants. He bent down to pick one of the plants that was lying on the ground shrinked by the flame, there was no time to cry for his loss; he was yet to save himself from the danger that was before him. A gunshot made him conscious that he was still in the middle of a crisis, his life itself was at jeopardy, he thought as he encouraged himself to let go and save one which was more precious -His life.
"We've been surrended" a man running from the west side toward them said. Puzzled about what to do, he turned and ran toward the East as the others joined suit. Parents abandoned their children, children crying and looking for their parents, friends on separate lane looking for refuge as they ran Helter skelter in the city that was almost burned down. Crying filled the city as they watched all they've laboured for scrambled. It was no longer salvation for those which they've lost but for them who no longer could tell what their fate in the next few minutes would be.
Any action they took could either jeopardize their effort or become their salvation.
"There's a tunnel at the extreme end" an old man said, "if we can get there before sunset, we would be out before their troops get us" else our lives would be at the risk of losing it.