That’s what the sign said, the crude wooden sign that was planted in the massive pile of the debris of the charred building. The writing, done in quick and jagged strokes of red paint, stood out among the greyness of the disaster scene – the rubble, the smoke, the despair. The sky seemed to not care that the people below were searching, grasping like madmen for some semblance of hope. It turned to grey as well, an overcast grey that obscured the sun. Misery, quietly forcing itself upon the conscience, permeated the air and made it heavy. A young girl cried. The man standing next to her let her use his handkerchief. Life as it had been lived for years was now over. A new life would now have to come into being.

A man appeared. None of the onlookers noticed him, but he was there, standing next to the sign. He was looking at the miserable crowd, looks of distress etched into their faces. And he began to speak.

“Hey, guys,” he said. “I just wanted to say, uh, I’m the guy who painted the sign here.” Nobody moved. “Well, uh, I just had to come back up here so that I could see it again, make sure about something.” Again, there was nothing but stone cold silence from the crowd. “And, uh, I’m very embarrassed to have to say this, but there’s been a very unfortunate typo here. You see, the sign says ‘Everyone you care about is DEAD’, but what it should say is ‘Everyone you care about is FED’. You see, we were able to rescue everyone and we took them all down to the soup kitchen for some good meals. And we didn’t want you to be all distressed, worrying about, ‘Oh, I hope Freddy gets something to eat’ or whatever. You know how mothers are. Anyway, so.. yeah, that’s about all I have to say. Sorry for any inconvenience.”

The man carefully navigated a path down the pile of rubble and walked off. A hysterical young woman then ran up the debris and straight towards the sign. She grabbed it and locked it in a death grip, screaming the thought that was on everyone’s mind. “Bring him back to me!” she yelled. She stared at the sign, a tear falling down her cheek. She lowered her head and pressed it against the sign in despair, her long brown hair gently falling, gently covering the sides of her face. “Bring him back,” she said softly, her voice trailing off into an inaudible whisper. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a rose, crushed from being carried around in a pocket for too long. She placed the petals in her hand and let the wind carry them to their final resting place. Their home would be here, amidst the debris of both buildings and lives. “I love you,” she said finally. “I will always love you.” And one by one, the crowd began to thin until she was alone on the pile of rubble. Then, at last, she stood up, shed one last tear, and took the first step off the pile of debris – the first step of a brand new life.