Dimensions: 8 x 6
My village stood on the edge of the road from Xieng Khouang to the Plain of Jars. There were rice fields next to the road. The first time the airplanes bombed the road but didn't bomb my village. At that time my life was filled with pleasure and happiness. With great happiness because the mountains and forests were beautiful through nature: land, water and climate suitable for we rice farmers. And there were many homes together in our one village.
But that dream did not last long. Because the airplanes came bombing my rice field until the bomb craters made farming impossible. And the village was hit and burned. And some relatives who were working in their fields without shelter came running out to the road to return to the village, but the airplanes saw and shot them — killing the farmers in a heart-rending manner. We heard their screams, but we couldn't go to help them.
When the airplanes left we went to look but they had already died.