War Child

August 24, 2014 - 3 minutes read


In the morning, it is dark. The nights are even darker. The only lights are gunshots and rocket fires. Smoke-filled lanes. Abandoned houses and streets. We are crammed in little rooms. Crammed in underground bunkers. I have seen more death than life. I am just a child. I think my heart dies a little inside every time I hear that someone I love is no longer alive. I am a war child. Living in square rooms. Living in square lives. This is what my life has been reduced to. This is all what remains of what I thought would be a wonderful life. The weekdays pass and the weekends go. I hear screams, shouts, and nothing else. I am a war child. Trapped in a square life. I have no escape. I cannot go back in time. I cannot rewind my life. What I have seen in my life cannot be unseen.  The sounds of drones cannot be unheard.

Knock! Knock! They come to our doors. When we refuse to open it, they bash it and break it through. With big guns and badges on suits, dressed up in grey helmets and brown boots, they kick us around like animals. Parade around the room. Call us names. Curse and abuse. Grab my sisters by the hair. Take them to another room. All I hear are screams and shouts. All I see are deadly grins when they come out. My mother keeps weeping. My father goes numb. Trapped in a square life. Trapped with no way out. My brother goes to war, saying he will fight for the homeland. I hear the news on Sunday. I realize the last good hug we had was months ago. He gets hit in the chest twice in two rounds. I come to know I shall not feel the warmth of his body against mine anymore. My friends are all gone. I have no idea where they have gone. I miss playing with them. The grown up games are no fun to play. I have tasted fear. I have clenched onto hope. However, a pain throbs in my heart when I think of going outside and seeing the playground in such a mess. I have tasted blood in my mouth. We are out of food. The electricity is gone. The sounds of sirens and cannons are all around. I am a war child. I am as I am. Nothing to see here. Nothing to read here. Just another story of a war child. Just another tale of a large-scale massacre.

Written by: Sheherbano Zafar

Picture credit: amberj8

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