“God, are you watching over me? Are you seeing the things that they are doing? These terrible things.”
From my waking moment, to my slumber, I hear explosions. Today is just like any other. I rose from the mattress that was my bed. Blinking away the last remains of sleep. When my senses fully returned, I got up. In the distance was the faint sound of machine guns. The horrid sound. If one payed attention, they could hear the individual ping of the bullet as its fired out, through the barrel, with 20 more right behind it, till the explosion out of the muzzle and into human flesh. It’s almost beautiful and horrible how it all works so perfectly together. The chatter of sustained fire pierced my ears. Surely someone on the recieving end was hiding, dying, or probably already dead. Maybe he was a peacekeeper at the gate. Maybe he was a mercenary trying to get his pay. It didn’t matter. You couldn’t call either side evil or good here. Both were equally as likely to kill me. I walked to the kitchen slowly. I began to make a breakfast from what little ingredients I had. Some tea, and a little fruit. Thats all I really needed, and had. Time to work. I went outside to the field.
Nothing about my work was particularly interesting. I walked outside and gathered my equipment. A shovel, a machete, and a hoe. Looking out through that vast field was one plant. The only thing that would grow. That disgusting flower. That one which ruined lives and destroyed the people who chose to use it, yet the only thing we could grow. No food would welcome this harsh desert with open arms. That radiant sun slowly burning all of us alive. That smell. Awful as it is, was the semblance of what allowed me to live. What put food on my table. Let the day begin. I see my neighbors out too. Some were disabled. Losing arms to airstrikes, or legs IEDs. This life, while utterly boring, held danger no matter where you were.
Hours passed of working diligently, while soldiers killed each other only a mile away. As I picked out the flowers, I could hear the crackle of rifles and the distant bang of an RPG. Another few dead maybe. Maybe just wounded. From the moment it all started till now, I never knew why this had to happen. Maybe my homeland was destined to live in constant war. Thrive in it maybe.
I remember how this all started. This life I live. Beginning with a never ending bombardment. It felt as though the wrath of God itself was destroying the world piece by piece. Half my village was destroyed that day. So many needlessly died. I still remember the stench of dead bodies. It’s something one simply doesn’t forget. That sweet and rotten smell. Like sugarcane and sulfur. The sheer brutality. Was it senseless? I had no clue. I was a lowly farmer. No power. No justice. Nothing to my name besides this field, and my house. I know soon I will lose that. War has reasons for existing, yet right now, this one has no apparent reason to me. I don’t understand why one would do these things. Days after those bombings, I went to the field, and found carnage and destruction. Bodies of friends who weren’t quick enough to get inside. My fields in total and utter ruin. Arms and legs and torsos strewn about. The worst part was, after all the suffering they caused us, those people came and said they were here not to harm us, but to harm the enemy. I wasn’t sure what enemy they referred to. Those rebels they fight, didn’t kill my friends. Those rebels didn’t bomb our homes, or start this war. They say they will bring peace and stability, but I believe they severely lack an understanding of the definition of peace. Does bombs and guns mean peace to them? What peace is there when it feels weird to not see a pile of weapons in the street. What peace is there when your daily routine becomes a funeral in the morning and farming in the afternoon. I wonder.
By afternoon, I could see those people and their soldiers patrolling. They walked around as though they had some sort of righteous duty in killing our people and destroying our homes. They looked down on us both physically and mentally because we were being invaded. They carried smug smiles as to show that they had the power. the helmets that blocked their heads, the armor that protected them from bullets, the trucks that blocked the streets, and the tanks that bulldozed our homes seemed to say that they did. But they were just as vulnerable as us, and all of us could easily kill them. Children gathered around the soldiers in fascination. The truth of the pain those soldiers caused was completely unbeknownst to them. They were just children who were intrigued by something they didn’t know. Those soldiers bent down to talk with them. They handed out sweets and toys. I know why. To get us on “their side”. I don’t understand this tactic. They bomb our villages and kill our people, and they think that by giving our kids some toys those sins are washed away? They tell us we are wrong for taking up arms, as though they didn’t invade our nation. I scoff at them. “Nation Building” as they say.
You can’t build a nation at gun point.
I elected to watch the soldiers. From the roof of my home. As I strung the clothes up for drying, something caught my eye. I stopped for a second to view it. What was that object that the boy held? With that sudden realization of what it was, I held no emotion or remorse for what would happen. My eyes grew wide, but I simply cared for my own safety. As the children dispersed, that one boy remained. The soldiers were smiling and trying to hand him some sweets. The boy stood there, completely still. Then, he took his jacket off, and revealed a vest. Yes, the object he held was a detonator and what was on his chest? 20 pounds of explosives. The soldiers quickly turn and tried to run, but it was too late. I averted my eyes and took cover. A massive boom crashed out. Smoke filled the air, clogging my nose with the smell of gunpowder and blood. A sulfuric abomination that attacked my senses. The dust was settling and I looked out to see in the black and charred crater, the disintegrated remains of the child, and the bodies of those soldiers. Some were completely gone. One had his legs blown clean off. More soldiers came running to see what happened. To witness the carnage.
My head didn’t know what to think. Was this what revenge was? They deserved it, but why does it feel, so different, There was no satisfaction. Nothing. What was this? I went inside. My hands were shaking uncontrollably. The front of my house had some damage but nothing too bad. I walked out side as the smoke dispersed. Soldiers were running around waving guns in our faces and yelling. My mind went blank. Nothing of this world was just. Children dying to kill others. Friends dying from the airstrikes. Soldiers witnessing the death of their fellows.
This was my war.
I rose from the mattress that was my bed. Blinking away the last remains of sleep. When my senses fully returned, I got up. Today was like another. Whether it was suicide bombers like yesterday, or artillery strikes later. Nothing changed. My mundane life, mixed with the occurrences of war.
“God. Are you watching? What are you thinking? Did you put us here to witness our own brutality? If you are kind, why does evil still exist?”
“Why”