He sought shelter; there was none. He sought refuge; there was none coming. He sought an answer to his thirst; nature would surely provide that.

It had never meant to be this way. A happy-go-lucky kid, the eldest of eight siblings, he had often found humor in the smallest of things. Rather than being frowned upon as being against societal norms, he had often humored that one more would help form a sporting team. He was an academic forced on the streets, pursuing labor, striving for that penny that would contribute to his family's well being. And yet, he had taken it with a smile.

Suddenly, he had traversed into another storyline. He had asked for water, and yet, nature responded with pellets. Societal infractions wouldn't harm his abode as much as natures rounds would. The artificial roof he had managed to sustain, pelted with gunfire; screams of agony, depicting war; thunder and lightning, speaking volumes of what had become.

You often look up towards the heavens to seek refuge; he could do anything but that. Every time he did, there was a drone, or a military chopper aiding visualize the horrific sounds in the vicinity. Society demands that a ten year old be protected from violent films; and yet, it had left him stranded in this war. His father, unjustly taken away by the military, simply because he housed a beard. His mother, shot by the enemy, simply because she was in her backyard consoling her children; shards of hair showing through as this bereft woman failed to conjure cognitive thoughts.

Which way would he look? At age ten, both sides of the war were the devil. Either had left him ravaged; fathering his siblings at a time of strife. His relatives would leave him to the dogs; strangers would pick up his siblings, tossing them in the convoluted pit that constitutes war.

Garnering the strength that only a Herculean character can afford, he collected what shards were left and ventured south. Surely society would allow him that iota of shelter. Hours turned into days; days, into what seemed like weeks. His younger charges fell, only to be carried on his burdened shoulders until they developed strength.

Nature had been kind to him. He thought he finally saw daylight; but alas, that was but a rogue; curtains were suddenly yanked over his head; neighboring states shutting borders in an effort to turn away these untouchables. Pellets aimed at him, he fell to his knees, begging forgiveness; begging to allow his young troops in. He did only what one would naturally do - look up towards the heavens seeking refuge. What he saw was the last thing he would ever see - a brazen shadow headed towards him. It wasn't refuge, but it was what he had asked for. The journey would surely end; he would finally get something he had asked for. His lasting memory surmised, his potential torn asunder; a live shell.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 27.06.2009

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