Misjudged

• Paris Solman, Grade 7
• Poetry
• 2014

A scene replays in head from only a few days ago. Huddled in a corner with my knees pulled to my chest, a steady stream of tears ran down my small, flushed cheeks. My hands, cupped over my ears, where trying to block out the profanities that were being screamed back and forth between my parents. We always had love and trust, but that dissolved into thin air as my father disappeared out the door, thought never to return.
Right here, right now, I have the same feeling s I had that night, only a few months ago, when my father walked out. I feel a mix of anger, sadness, unsureness, and confusion. The day before that night, everything was fine, the love was still in my parent’s eyes, but that was burnt out by a pure flame of hatred. Yesterday, there was peace in my neighbourhood, but now the sound of children crying, people screaming, and gunshots fill my ears as I try to push through the crowd. Yesterday, these streets were quiet, but now people are running through them, trying to escape our war-zone of a town.
Innocent children are getting caught in this bloodbath and are being torn from the grasps of their families. Their mothers weep helplessly in the middle of the battlefield, waiting for any sign of their children they have loved and cared for. They stare of into the distance as their children have been torn away from them in the middle of all the pandemonium of this war. They collapse onto their knees, covering their faces with their scared hands, crying out for their babies to come back. Their children have been their whole lives. I wonder if any of these feelings could relate to my mother the stampede of people force us to part. I want to get away, to get to a safe place, but there is nowhere to run to. Nowhere is safe.
The next thing I know, I’m flat on my stomach. It happened so quickly, so unexpectedly. The blood curdling screams fill my ears as I try to uncover that some sort of lethal explosion has gone off. Everything is a blur. I’m about get up but, gunfire rains down on those who attempt this.
I still vaguely hear someone shouting, must be the leader of the rebels whom has vowed to take control. Shouting to all, dead or alive, that there’s nothing we can do but surrender. I’m not completely coherent as the blood slowly drains from my body from where bullets pierced my skin. They begin to leave the scene, shooting anyone who makes the slightest movement.
I catch a glimpse of the leader; I notice his facial features are very familiar. It’s like a face I once knew. My whole body turns to stone as it all comes clear is unmentionable. When I realise that I had misjudged this man who I thought was kind and considerate of others, this man who is my father.