[ FF ] 5 minute speedwrite : In a war-torn city , a teen who is hiding in the rubble is confronted by a soldier , enemy or friend , you chose , and then the bombs start to drop again

Start: 3:53 MST 
 
 It was strange that all he could think about - well, mostly all he could think about - was how thirsty he was. He had n't had a drink of water in days. And he remembered the last drink very clearly - sipped from a fetid puddle in the street. Three days. His lips were beginning to crack and bleed after three days. 
 
 He had taken shelter in what he supposed was an old shop. Ladies' clothes or shoes, perhaps. It all looked the same, now. All of it was dust and broken concrete. Noise. Dry, dry air. 
 
 The days were blurring together, as well. Maybe it had n't been three days. Could it have been? Would he have died after three days? He tried to remember, and in trying to remember, did n't hear the sound of crunching glass beneath a boot. 
 
 He was n't startled. It did n't even occur to him that there was a gun in his face, at least not at first. He looked at the barrel as he imagined an animal might. This strange metal thing, hovering in front of a soldier who looked about his own age, and just as thirsty. 
 
 `` L'eau?'' he asked. There was no response from the boy with the gun. The boy who looked like him. He asked again, his voice cracking. That was something he would've been embarrassed about, just a year or two ago. Now it did n't matter. It was n't his own voice, was it? Could n't have been. 
 
 He did n't hear a gunshot. The boy who looked like him never fired. Simply faded away into the whiteness that had overcome his vision. He heard shouting in a different language, and some distant crashing, but it did n't matter. Three days, it seemed, had been enough. 
 
 Stopped: 3:58 MST
