Vengeance is Mine.
Author's Note:
This is a tale based on the aftermath of a war among the folks who lived with
it without any reason to fight for or against it.
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It was near dusk
when he stepped into the kitchen. He is holding a bag that is wet with dark
marks. He ran in and closed the door. He then rushed over to the kitchen sink
and dropped the package. He turned on the tap let the low-pressure water seeps
out over his package. It was then I moved to form the kitchen door to see what
he has in his bag this time. There was a time he came back with a small bag of
flour and that was a relief. But ever he came back with something that he needs
to throw into the sink.
"What did you
do this time, Matt?" He just smiled at me and that is when I saw the bloodstains
on his clothes. I reached down and pulled him to me. I frisked his body for any
signs of wounds or shots, but he is squirming with giggles now. "Are you
hurt, darling?"
He shook his head
and I was relieved. I pointed to the dark stains and he just smiled. He raised
his hand to point at the sink in which I stood up to check his package. I
slowly unwrapped the package; removing the piece of paper he has wrapped it in.
It's a chicken with all its feathers; or more like half the chicken as its
lower portions are missing. It must have been torn or ripped off/. I turned to
ask my son but he has left to take his shower and change of clothes. I looked
back at the dead chicken and I said to myself; 'you are one lucky bitch to be
dead'.
What is life in a
land where conflicts of arms have been going on for years and no one is trying
to end it? All each side can talk about is their inequality and the need to be
self-ruled. But whoever is choosing to rule us to forget about our survival. I
don't carry a gun to shoot but I get shot at for walking on the street to get
food for more of my family. A family which is now only my son who is dumb; not
because he is handicapped but by the result of a stray bullet that grazes his
throat. My love is dead shot by some other idiot across the divide and he is not
coming home anymore. Sometimes I wished I was the chicken and get torn off by
an unknown bomb. But every time I think of that, I thought of my son. He
deserved a chance at life and not be terminated at such an early age.
Matt is only ten
and yet he has seen more than many adults in their lifetime. He goes out every
day with his friends and carries a small kitchen knife in his jacket. I don't
know what he does out there, as I have my own life to take care of. I am a
nurse at the medic tent and the hours can be long depending on the patients. It
does not pay in money but it gives me some basic rations I can take home.
That's when it gets scary as I need to get these rations to my house before
anyone snatches them from me. Sometimes, I get Peter to help me as he is armed
and knows how to shoot the rifle. He is a nice man who also has a family to
feed but he gets lonely at times. I talked to him and he would send me home.
Sometimes he stays for a while and we shared our loneliness. It's not like I am
betraying my husband but I also have needs. Peter does too and that is my
payback for his protection. Once, Matt caught us together and he ran away from
the house. I was worried and Peter helped to search for him, but Matt came
back. He was hungry and dirty. I don't know why but I gave him a lashing of his
life before I hugged him back to my bosom. I regretted my action but it's over
now.
I looked at the
chicken again. I guess it can still be eaten despite its massacre condition. I
filled up the pot with water to be boiled. It's needed to peel the feathers. I
looked out the kitchen window and I see my son Matt fresh from his shower now
playing outside. He looks like any other boy in any place of the world doing
what they like at this hour. But here it's a luxury to stand outside and play.
There has been no bombardment for the last week and we hoped it would last.
Maybe the end could be near, but that is a foolish thought after three long
years of conflict.
Then it came like before;
silent yet deadly the bombs dropped on us. It only sounds out its arrival when on
the impact on the ground and when it does, the ground is dug up to fifty feet
high and a hole that is big enough for your car. But in this case, it was a
group of boys who chose to play ball. That group includes my son who stood
there watching the bomb dropped on him. I could not scream as I was thrown back
by the blast against the wall, and lost consciousness.
Today is Armistice
Day. We have finally decided that the war is to be over. The bells are ringing
and the streets are filled with people. I joined them in rejoicing but we are
not sheltered from the events of the war. The armed men are searching for some
houses for collaborators and spies. I saw some men being dragged out to be shot
by the wall while we who are the innocents stand to watch. I saw one of the
shooters and I confronted him.
"Why did you
shoot the old man? What has he done?"
"He is an
enemy spy who directs the bombs to our town. He tells them where our position is.
The war may be over but he cannot be allowed to live." The shooter walks
away to find the others to be shot at. I stared at the old man. Could he have
done the heinous acts? He is still moving.
"Did you do
what he said?" I looked at the old man. His reaction was expected; he spat
at me with his bloodied mouth. I stood up and wiped away the spit from my face.
I took up the broken piece of brick and I clubbed him with it. For my son and myself.
There is no peace after a war; only personal vengeance and more hatred by the
innocents to the others. Maybe time will heal but until then, I am still at war.
And it's just the
beginning.
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