Nov 2015
Screams permeate this infernal mist. I am surrounded by quaffs of smoke so thick that they could be volcanic spew. My lungs are scorched from the flames rising on either side of me, while lashes of fire are biting and stinging my painfully dry skin. Thick black billows of fiery smoke rush to my face, burning my skin and killing my sense of smell. Still I have no choice. If I want to survive I must struggle on. I drop to the floor to half crawl half shuffle under the smoke. Broken glass is strewn across the floor. Thank goodness I managed to get my shoes on before the bomb went off. My neighbor Bob ran away barefoot and as I followed his footstep I can barely see and but clearly feel the slippery smears of blood from his feet painting the floor. To my right I hear the wails of a woman burning and to the left the shrieks of a baby crying. I turn left and pray that someone will come for the lady, or that she dies soon. The dark clouds of ash are so thick that I can’t keep my eyes open for more than a second because they keep watering up. I stumble through the hall into a bedroom, following the now ragged sobs of the infant. Almost as soon as I reach the child the screaming stops. I reach for him, her, it. It is limp. I cradle the soft body against my chest. Maybe just maybe if I can get out here I will have a chance. Please let me have a chance. Someone grabs me from behind. I struggle for a few second, panicking until he yells in my ear
“this way, follow me out.”
Within seconds I find myself passing under the archway and out into daylight. Behind me the building moans and shudders. Then for a few seconds I can hear nothing but a whoosh as the building collapses. I am struck by the moment, then by a shard of glass which pierces the back of my neck. The EMT is yelling at me. I don’t know why. A police officer comes over and tries to pry my hands from my chest. Then I remember the baby. I let go of the body and I see the horror on the face of the EMT. I try to sit down slowly, but I collapse while the world around me becomes a black fog.
I awake to terrible pain. My lungs ache but my hands and neck hurt worse. They are covered in bandages so I cannot see the real damage; which is good I don’t want to know. In the days that follow I have several visitors. Some call me a victim of a horrible tragedy. Others try to label me a hero.
The baby survived. We were two of three survivors out of a hundred or more. A hundred or more is what they tell me. That is supposed to be a conservative guess. They found the bodies of 72 adults, 36 children, and a dog. A dog, I was certain that having an animal in that building was against the rules. Whatever.
It has been three weeks. I’m free of the hospital and bandages, but not free of the dreams. Every time I sleep I see big and little bodies burnt to a crisp dragging themselves along the cemetery ground, following a funeral procession passes. As I walk by, one of the charred bodies reaches for my hand, begging for help in a dry and raspy voice. A smaller burnt figure struggles to reach me. I go to pick it up and the body crumbles to dust. More frightening forms rise from the ashen earth and now I am surrounded. Not just burnt bodies but bodies with bullet holes, bodies with lacerations. Each one asking for help each one deformed in its own way. The stench of rotted flesh makes me so nausea that I try to throw up my lunch instead burnt flesh and smoke fills my throat. The crowd of corpses continues piling on me faster and faster till I am drowning in a sea of corpses. Sometimes the dream ends there other times I am visited by more horror. One time it was a different nightmare. Corpses spewed from my voice into the daylight until they blotted out the sun. The earth grew barren. Animals were devoured by the rotted corpses. Plants shriveled falling to ground, and I stood alone among a sea of endless corpses the last living thing.
Another week or two later, I stop sleeping. Well, I stop sleeping with the exception of the occasional catnaps when my body just shuts down and even the caffeine and ephedrine can’t keep me awake. On the news I hear religious leaders and politicians railing against the terrorist. They say it is time to bring the fight to them.
For some reason I am invited to stand up and speak at one of those rallies so I do. I extol the virtues of our great nation. I cry for vengeance against those who murdered my family and friends. The leader of our local temple pats me on the shoulder and thanks me for my patriotism. I am honored by his words.
Now I have found some power, so I rise to the occasion more often. I speak of the evils of oppression and violence, while supporting other forms oppression and violence. I along with other orators yell and rant about the threats to our freedoms while my government takes away the freedom of others. We speak of sacrifices that must be made. However, when I stop and think about it the sacrifices being made are not by everyone. The poor families send their children of to fight for our safety while the rich and powerful remain safe. Oh well, it must be done.
A year passes. I watch my government target people of a certain race. They torture them and hide them in foreign prison. There are rumors of beatings and mutilations. I ignore them. Even if it is true it is necessary in the name of freedom. Our enemies would not show any kind of mercy. Then they come for another group of people. I understand this is what must be done. Therefore, I do not intercede on their behalf. Although others do start to stand up. They resist. We real patriots know the truth though. These people are traitors. In a time of crisis one cannot question the government. I watch these traitors get shunned and brutalized by their neighbors. They are ostracized for their beliefs. Good. In the end they too are taken away.
The government comes for another group of people and another and another. Till, now I am one of the few left. I start to question the state of the nation. Now I open my mouth, and speak out against the fascism. But now is too late because it is my turn to feel the wrath of a military state.
They come for me with angry dogs and rage in their heart. They come for me with intention to beat me down like an animal. They come for me with grim intentions and all I can think is I wished I had spoken up sooner.
“this way, follow me out.”
Within seconds I find myself passing under the archway and out into daylight. Behind me the building moans and shudders. Then for a few seconds I can hear nothing but a whoosh as the building collapses. I am struck by the moment, then by a shard of glass which pierces the back of my neck. The EMT is yelling at me. I don’t know why. A police officer comes over and tries to pry my hands from my chest. Then I remember the baby. I let go of the body and I see the horror on the face of the EMT. I try to sit down slowly, but I collapse while the world around me becomes a black fog.
I awake to terrible pain. My lungs ache but my hands and neck hurt worse. They are covered in bandages so I cannot see the real damage; which is good I don’t want to know. In the days that follow I have several visitors. Some call me a victim of a horrible tragedy. Others try to label me a hero.
The baby survived. We were two of three survivors out of a hundred or more. A hundred or more is what they tell me. That is supposed to be a conservative guess. They found the bodies of 72 adults, 36 children, and a dog. A dog, I was certain that having an animal in that building was against the rules. Whatever.
It has been three weeks. I’m free of the hospital and bandages, but not free of the dreams. Every time I sleep I see big and little bodies burnt to a crisp dragging themselves along the cemetery ground, following a funeral procession passes. As I walk by, one of the charred bodies reaches for my hand, begging for help in a dry and raspy voice. A smaller burnt figure struggles to reach me. I go to pick it up and the body crumbles to dust. More frightening forms rise from the ashen earth and now I am surrounded. Not just burnt bodies but bodies with bullet holes, bodies with lacerations. Each one asking for help each one deformed in its own way. The stench of rotted flesh makes me so nausea that I try to throw up my lunch instead burnt flesh and smoke fills my throat. The crowd of corpses continues piling on me faster and faster till I am drowning in a sea of corpses. Sometimes the dream ends there other times I am visited by more horror. One time it was a different nightmare. Corpses spewed from my voice into the daylight until they blotted out the sun. The earth grew barren. Animals were devoured by the rotted corpses. Plants shriveled falling to ground, and I stood alone among a sea of endless corpses the last living thing.
Another week or two later, I stop sleeping. Well, I stop sleeping with the exception of the occasional catnaps when my body just shuts down and even the caffeine and ephedrine can’t keep me awake. On the news I hear religious leaders and politicians railing against the terrorist. They say it is time to bring the fight to them.
For some reason I am invited to stand up and speak at one of those rallies so I do. I extol the virtues of our great nation. I cry for vengeance against those who murdered my family and friends. The leader of our local temple pats me on the shoulder and thanks me for my patriotism. I am honored by his words.
Now I have found some power, so I rise to the occasion more often. I speak of the evils of oppression and violence, while supporting other forms oppression and violence. I along with other orators yell and rant about the threats to our freedoms while my government takes away the freedom of others. We speak of sacrifices that must be made. However, when I stop and think about it the sacrifices being made are not by everyone. The poor families send their children of to fight for our safety while the rich and powerful remain safe. Oh well, it must be done.
A year passes. I watch my government target people of a certain race. They torture them and hide them in foreign prison. There are rumors of beatings and mutilations. I ignore them. Even if it is true it is necessary in the name of freedom. Our enemies would not show any kind of mercy. Then they come for another group of people. I understand this is what must be done. Therefore, I do not intercede on their behalf. Although others do start to stand up. They resist. We real patriots know the truth though. These people are traitors. In a time of crisis one cannot question the government. I watch these traitors get shunned and brutalized by their neighbors. They are ostracized for their beliefs. Good. In the end they too are taken away.
The government comes for another group of people and another and another. Till, now I am one of the few left. I start to question the state of the nation. Now I open my mouth, and speak out against the fascism. But now is too late because it is my turn to feel the wrath of a military state.
They come for me with angry dogs and rage in their heart. They come for me with intention to beat me down like an animal. They come for me with grim intentions and all I can think is I wished I had spoken up sooner.
