By: Hania Bilal
Brainwashed
Death prowled the streets of Nablus, floating on, spirit to broken spirit, cradling their bodies, perished and cold. The skyline seemed to crumble; women with guns and old men clad with armor; the hideous crackle of landmines creeping in every corner, missiles flying overhead till all that could be heard was a disastrous symphony, the final act reaching its crescendo; incessant screams and pleas for life, finally succumbing to the inescapability of their demise. It was as if Heaven and Hell collided, forming an abyss, where terror ran rampant in the streets and Beauty watched, silent, a battlefield of shattered desire. God stood on one side and Lucifer on the other, whispering, goading, beckoning, yet no one was able to distinguish one from the other.
I stumbled through the quagmire, desperately searching for a way to return to my regiment. A far off ringing reverberated through my head, persistent. My legs were leaden yet I trudged through the barren wasteland, head kept low. Panting and swearing and overcome by fatigue, I collapsed on the scorching ground, my head swimming. For a while, I lay there, harboring shallow breaths and empty thoughts.
Some rustling in the nearby hedges suddenly had me on my feet, gun supported on my shoulder, not daring to move. Rapt with attention, I kept my eyes trained on the spot of movement. “Show yourself!”, I called out, disgusted at the slight tremor in my voice. Nothing. I shouted again. Eventually, the hedges stirred and a child appeared. An appalling creature, no older than nine, barely fifteen feet away. I could see his pupils dilating; a bead of sweat ran down his scorched neck. In one hand, he clasped a tiny action figure - a soldier probably, I couldn’t quite make out - and in the other, a rifle. His eyes bore into mine, expressionless.
They’re all the same. Bad people. Sinners. Degenerates. He will grow up to spread evil. It’s better off this way.
His rifle was aimed directly at me. I noticed how his feet were dirty and his hair unkempt. I noticed his tender skin, torn cruelly by rambles. I noticed his calloused hands, so steady on the cold metal.
You will be rewarded.
I lifted my firearm, the machine feeling like a mountain on my shoulders. Clammy hands.
Filthy miscreants.
I heard my captain behind me screaming.
“Shoot him! That’s a direct order soldier! He is NOT one of us.”
Not one of us.
I bring my finger up to rest on the trigger.
Not one of us.
I squeeze.
-----------------------
I watched the bullet gracefully slicing the air. I could almost reach out and hold it. It was just me and the boy. He stood frozen and his eyes widened, his expression faltering. The figurine slipped out of his hands and hit the earth, face-down. The world exploded in amplified colors and fireworks and beautiful chaos. The sun vanished behind a cloud of ash and smoke. A blasphemous sound erupted from inside me, and I, drunk with power, cherished it. My ears were enveloped in a muffled ringing as the pellets shattered his spine and the child crumpled against the reddened sand. Nothing.
And my love, do not weep when my body is harrowed and bereft of life.
I remained motionless as my captain clapped me on the back.
Good job, son. You will be compensated for your valor.
The sky blushed a bronze-red and the horizon appeared threaded with gold. I lifted my head towards the sky and gazed longingly at the rewards that awaited me. A raindrop fell from the heavens and landed on my open palm, wild and untamed, before escaping through my clenched fist.
Salvation.
(Photo from here.)
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