Terrorism’s Toll on Innocence

A cacophony of shadows, and all I feel is fear. Sweat trickles down my forehead, my eyes burn like wild-fire as tears run down my grimy cheeks. My hands cling onto numb legs, I press my torso against weak knees, trying to stop my entire body from trembling, curled up under the old wooden frame of a moth-eaten table. I hold my breath, and try to listen for signs of another inconsolable soul like mine, in vain. The only sounds are those of my frantic, pounding heart, which I'm certain will give me away. An impending fear grips my weary figure, as I wait here, for my short life to end.

My mind races, I always feared I would leave this way. Dusty streets leading up to my rundown house, scorching sun that left our fields dry with pitiable harvests, sickening stench of bodies piling up in pits........indicators of inescapable misery. Blood-curling wails pierced still nights, waking me more times than I could count. I remember cuddling close to my mother, crying into her bosom, as sounds of incessant gunshots took down dozens of innocent souls, one by one, painfully tearing apart families. They would shout out in victory, and leave with fresh blood on their hands, only to return weeks later. Silence would follow. An impenetrable, taunting silence. I would cry myself to sleep as my mother sang songs of pain and peace, and wake up the next morning, grateful to still be alive.

Yet here I am. Facing what I wished I’d never have to, in the only place I had hoped would help me flee from the life I was born with. Education, they said, would help me help myself. A warm sticky liquid meets my toes; I recoil in horror. It slowly spreads across the concrete floor, until I’m sitting in a pool of my classmates’ blood. I bite my tongue to keep myself from screaming in agony. Footsteps storm past, deep voices address each other. They throw chairs, overturn desks, and break open cupboards. My head and heart pound in unison, waiting for bullets to free them of their toil. I hear whimpering, a pathetic plea. I peek from under my refuge. My friend is on her knees, at the mercy of the masked terrorists. My conscience wages a war over my senses, I want to run to her, rid those beasts of their weapons, yet my entire body has stopped trembling, paralysis has taken over instead. I want to scream, louder than the gunfire that still rings in my ears, but my mouth has run dry. I want to shut my eyes, but they’re glued onto hers. She turns, her eyes meet mine, and a bullet pierces her head. Vicious laughter penetrates my skull, I feel my sanity ebbing away, leaving behind an empty void of an emotionless being. The ecstatic murderers stomp out of the room, leaving me alone with corpses. Silence follows. This time, I'm far from grateful for still being alive.