Akbar Fida Anonta

We were silent, in the 2nd room on the top floor. Bangs of tanks, the rattle of machine guns roamed the whole area. The whole town was lit, not in street lights, but in fire like an inferno. Suddenly, the ‘pure’ army of hell was at our front door, searching for the ‘impure’ souls. The door broke into two and opened with heavy boots that moments later dragged my father to the lower ground. Mother tried to shield my infant sister who was barely 14 months old then, crying. But they didn’t care. They threw her outside the window in front of everyone like nothing as if a piece of old parchment paper. Everyone in the family stood still in disbelief at first. Father started to turn, but the sound of their arms went through his head and he fell on the floor, never to rise again. Two of them took my mother to another room. After a while, another loud bang reached my ears, just like my father’s. In just a matter of time, my whole world went down and all my happiness shattered. Apparently, biting my arm to resist, bursting into tears and making any sound of protest was not enough. After all, it was the scream of pain; not only because of getting hurt but also the pain of losing the ones who were family. My small yet noticeable squeaky noise of tears turned their focus from looting to the cupboard I was hiding. Eventually they caught me by my hair, dragged me down the house, and threw me in their truck. They didn’t even let me try and wake my father up who seemed to be taking a nap but with his eyes wide open in a puddle of his blood.

Amid all these, I could feel the truck floor being wet and smelled a rotten stench. I could also hear the heavy breathings and sobbing of other people locked up there with me. It was truly dense and dark. As the truck started to move, I saw the bright yellow and red street, filled with garbage and our neighbors, their dead bodies. As we drove past the countryside a little later, I could hardly make out the fields and rivers but definitely saw the crows and vultures hovering over our heads in circles, ready to attack any time. I kept my eyes outside, just perceiving fate or life itself before it was all done for, unable to feel or response to anything. After all, these events were too much to bear for a child like me who was only 10 years old. The truck stopped after what seemed like an eternity; the khaki force told everyone to get down. It was already dawn and we were in a big field. The ground felt really soft, like lands after a rigorous plow. The sunlight felt warm. But I was cold and felt I know not what. 

As I turned back, I saw a bunch of kids with some grown-ups, all following the order of the armed ones and kneeled in front of them, just like me. I suddenly felt a slight poke in my left knee, thought a baby plant at first, but it was the finger of a person. Yes, we were in a mass grave where all the ‘impure’ souls, such as us were buried, both dead and alive. As I looked around, I saw more such fingers, hands, and even someone’s foot. All those that were buried alive fought for their lives with the little strength they had, but couldn’t quite make it. My focus changed from all those to my left, as a loud scream struck my ears. Many similar sounds followed afterward, like a symphony. The symphony of death, actually. But it paused for a second as a man, probably a father, tried to save his son by shielding him. Despite the army shooting his right arm, he stood still, determined to save his son. But the final shot made both take a dive into the deepest slumber. I heard laughter around me as if someone had cracked open a bottle of cheap jokes. I was the only one who was remaining. A disgusting odorous man stood before me as I raised my eyes. I looked up, saw a crooked smile that made me go berserk and cry and scream in sheer fear. I felt ready and accepted it all. But I was also in denial of my fate. 

All these were not supposed to happen. I was happy with my family, and loved how my young sister used to grab my finger and smile. I used to celebrate my birthday with all my friends just the night before. We had a lot of fun. Everyone was happy, and our house would be filled with laughter. But now! I lost my beloved father, my beautiful young sister, and don’t even know what happened to my mother who probably faced the same fate as others. My friends and all my neighbors are also probably in ashes. Thinking all these made me feel sick, weak, and lightheaded. I wanted to throw up. But there was no strength left in me to cry, and all this time it looked like they were enjoying my pain. And why wouldn’t they? It was fun for them. We were the insects after all, our suffering entertained them to their very core. 

As I looked by my side and saw a long rifle pointed towards my head, followed by a long silence everything started to slow down for me. I could hear my own breath and felt my heart getting slower and my body getting numb. Then the world just tilted a bit as my vision got blurry. “Maybe this is the end”, I said to myself. Felt a bit of happiness as now I won’t be tortured anymore, won’t have to endure the excruciating pain and suffering. I could finally reunite with my family and friends. Everything went dark and peaceful. I don’t know what happened after that. I woke up in an unknown place, with unknown faces all around. Was it all a bad dream or just a memory of another life I once had? Don’t know, but the scar of the black night stayed with me, just like the scar of a sharp knife.