It was dark and wet. A man was chasing them on horseback. Her elder sister ran ahead, leading the mother and two young children through the shadowy streets towards safety. The mother gathered her young son in her arms as her other daughter struggled to keep up behind her. She was holding her hand, but the girl had no more strength left. She tripped and fell on the hard cobbles. Her mother stopped and turned around

"Carmen! Get Up!" She couldn’t. Something held her back.

The hoofbeats got stronger as their pursuer approached. The mother clutched the boy to her breast, her gaze drifting behind Carmen. Her eyes, even in the blackness of the night, showed pure terror. It is an image that would forever haunt Carmen’s mind. Her own mother, her own baby brother, her entire family. Her mother’s eyes were wide and fearful, eyes of one who knows they are about to die; the silent scream that comes before death.

"Go, Mama"

She bit her lip and ran. The eldest sister was no longer in sight.

Carmen pulled herself into a rubbish pile waited and prayed. Yet it was not for their lives, but for their souls She knew she would never see her mother again, or her baby brother. As for her sister, she was already dead. Her mother was following her spirit.

The hoofbeats became stronger as the young gypsy held herself close to the pile of wet stinking hay and rotted kitchen waste. As they thundered past, the tears started to flow from her eyes like small rivers. The hoofbeats trailed off down the alleyway, then stopped. Her mother screamed as the horse’s iron shoes slid on the stone street towards her trembling body. For a brief moment she could hear her brother crying into the night, then silence.

Nearly choking on her own tears, she sniffled them back up her nose. She was alone. Carmen peered out from under the rubbish. The street was clear, or was it? The girl could hear the hoofbeats approaching, or was it the pounding of her own heart? She drew herself back under the rubbish pile and watched as a figure on a dark horse drew nearer. All that could be seen was the horses’ breath, dissipating into the coolness of the autumn evening. She could not make out the mans’ face, but could see as he rode past that he wore a three cornered hat, trailed by a long tassel. The tassel gently swayed with the horses’ movements, whilst the rider sat in icy stillness.

Several moments after the figure had passed by, the odor of horse sweat and blood lingered. The stink of the moldy hay seemed aromatic compared to the putrid stench of death. She sat there alone, in the waste pile, throughout the night. She cried, she shivered, and she prayed. If God would only have mercy on her family and let them into His kingdom of heaven. If He would only help her to survive, have an angel come down and help her. She needed His help. She was four years old with no home, no food and no family.

Many miles away, a man of twenty-one sat before an empty fireplace still mourning the loss of his gypsy lover and family. They were gone forever, he’d never see either of them again. He fingered the yellow-white blanket that lay on his lap. It had belonged to his lover and once swaddled his own child, his sweet baby. Had it really been so long ago? Tears flowed down the man’s face in steady steams. He didn’t care. After the loss of one’s family, what else mattered? The young man looked out his small window into the darkness. He was alone.