Light paints the sky, the gentle strokes of orange and yellow. The indigo that captures my world shifts in shades as the sun's hopeful rays bathe the Sorrowful Land. But it is not a beautiful picture that the morning brings to the Sorrowful Land. It is the sight of the collapsed buildings, the cracked roads, the bullet holes that cover every inch spared from the missiles. I watch from my bedroom window, staring at the debris that cover the streets I once played on and it reminds me of the people who's laughter still haunts the formidable streets. A laughter that once was filled with joy, the laughter that softened the hearts of men, now was replaced by the loud silence that filled the ears of the survivors.
Who are those people that have ensued terror in our hearts? The monsters that roam the Sorrowful Land are heroes to many. They are the salvation of mankind, the beholder of peace but I do not understand what peace they behold and what mankind they have salvaged. Perhaps, the ever-flowing rivers of blood separate me from seeing what they have truly done for us.
I take out a box of bandages I keep under the bed and cautiously make my way through the treacherous streets, steeling myself to face the aftermath of the nightly RPGs, Missiles and grenades.It is not hard to find the victims, all I must do is follow the wails of pain and anguish that carry to every corner and crevice of the Sorrowful Land. Occasionally, I come across little boys that wash blood stains from the walls of their houses, a vacant look in their eyes that speaks of their inability to comprehend the horrors they see as the people from the Sorrowful Land. We give quick nods to each other, silently expressing the pain that we share, the terrors that seem only to exist in the sand that soaks up the blood of the ones that are lost to us.
I ask myself again and again, what we had done to deserve their hatred, their anger. Perhaps now that they have taken my mother and father from me, they will be satisfied. Perhaps now that they have shot my brother in front of me and silenced my sisters, they will finally agree that I have been punished for my unknown sin and they will leave. But they sit in their safe haven, eating with their children and boasting about how they have achieved victory against the people of the Sorrowful Land, not once mentioning that their victory was against those who are defenseless and weak. For what kind of heroism is in killing children?
I reach the sight where the injured lay and hand over the box to a nurse who nods and smiles tightly before scurrying off to treat the wounded. A little boy clings to his mother, asking again and again why the monsters had put a gun to his father's head, why his father had fallen to the ground and not moved. The mother holds onto her child, nodding stiffly as she stares at her husband's lifeless body. A man rocks back and forth, sobbing, holding a small lifeless being in his arms. I walk over to a woman who sits by a boy's unmoving body, clutching his pale hand. She does not notice when I sit beside her and stare at the body for a few minutes before I break down and start to sob, wondering where the humanity that humans were associated with had gone.
Suddenly, the world becomes still and a silence settles on the mourning sight. I stop breathing all together, listening to the shrill whistling sound that is heard from the heavens. The woman beside me clutches at my arm, her nails digging into my flesh hard enough that it might have hurt if I wasn't so distracted. I have just enough time to listen to the woman's whispered prayer before the missile swallows up my sight of the Sorrowful Land.
-HuntersArrow
