Of Delia's War | A Record

What follows are selected entries. They have been lightly edited for clarity, but the roughness—the fear, the hunger, the fury—remains. “The shelf is still warm. Not from sunlight. From the fire two blocks away. I’m sitting in the children’s section—or what’s left of it. ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’ is ash. But ‘Goodnight Moon’ survived. I’m holding it. That feels like a sign.

I started this record to survive. Now I think I finish it to remember. Not just the horror—but the fact that a librarian and a fourteen-year-old girl with a spoon outlasted an army. a record of delia's war

Tonight I found a child. Three years old. Wandering near the old tram depot. No name. No note. Just a stuffed rabbit with one ear. I carried her for six hours until an old man said he knew her grandmother. The grandmother was dead. But the neighbor took her anyway. What follows are selected entries

Before the war, I returned library books a day late and felt guilt for a week. Now I’ve taken a life—not directly, but I helped Lin drag a wounded Bloc deserter into a sewer. He died there. Infection. I held his hand. He said his mother’s name. ‘Maria.’ Not from sunlight