A Record Of Delia's War May 2026

Note to self: Speed is not survival. Timing is survival.” “I stole bread today. From an old woman’s cellar. She wasn’t there—maybe dead, maybe fled. I left three cans of beans in exchange, but that’s not the point. The point is: I have become someone who takes.

I have not slept in three days. I have walked past two checkpoints wearing a dead woman’s coat. I am looking for her. But the city is a graveyard with a few breathing people in it. a record of delia's war

Today she made it. Yesterday she didn’t try. The day before, a man was shot in that same five-minute window. But he was running, not crawling. Lin crawls. She wears grey. She moves like water. Note to self: Speed is not survival

Tonight we are eating real rice. Someone found a sack in a collapsed warehouse. I am crying again. But this time it’s different.” “The war isn’t over. But the Blocs are retreating. I saw their columns pulling back this morning. Lin climbed a water tower and waved a red scarf. No one shot at her. She wasn’t there—maybe dead, maybe fled

But if you are reading this: Delia’s war was small. One woman. One child. One street at a time. And we did not lose.

They took her instead. Dragged her by the hair. She didn’t scream. She looked at me and mouthed: ‘Keep writing.’