A Chilean Pacifist

• Aislinn Murray, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2015

The soldier dug his filthy fingers into my shoulder and shoved me towards the door of the decrepit, stationary bus, en route to Mendoza. Sofia clung to my hand, shouting at the soldier or anyone who would listen. Men and the few other women who sat solemnly upon the ripped, vinyl bus seats, stared at us with eyes miles away. Some of them looked at us with guilt and sympathy but I knew none would help. It was a dangerous time in Chile for pacifists. Men contemplated their chances of survival. They could fight for the army and die, or rebel and risk death or imprisonment. Women prayed for a promising future. All they could do was resist standing out. Sofia’s eyes were a sea of anger and helplessness as we were broken apart. I struggled as I was dragged out onto the street. I turned back; as the bus driver, with no emotion besides annoyance, restarted the engine and accelerated forward, separating me from Sofia and my unborn child.

I was shoved aggressively into the dark and disgustingly damp interior of a truck. I fell onto my face, grazing my cheek on loose gravel, rolling around as the rattling engine started up. I dragged my body into an upright position. Subtle light seeping in through holes in the truck walls highlighted silhouettes of four other hunched, male bodies. The putrid smell of musk and vermin droppings embraced each other, giving me a powerful headache. I could almost taste the sweat and bitter mould. The truck rolled forward. The soldiers were taking me to the jail in Mendoza. My mind blurred with questions and my eyes blurred with tears. I cried for the first time in many years that day.

Warmth and light wrapped around me like a blanket as the heavy iron bolt was lifted and the truck doors flung open. That warmth was felt only by my skin. A group of more boisterous, uniformed soldiers each led a prisoner through a back entrance into the jail. The soldiers were hyenas, cackling and preying on the prisoners, thriving on their sense of superiority. I was brutally kicked in the back in an attempt to fasten my pace. The cemented corridors of the jail looked centuries old and the cells looked older. The deafening bang of the cell door slamming closed ricocheted off each of the confining cell walls. Any flicker of hope I had of seeing Alicia again had disintegrated. I fell to my knees and prayed.

I look back on that time with remorse and regret. I boarded the bus that day because I was helpless and in hope of a happy life with my wife and our new baby, but it was far from freedom that I received. In a desperate attempt to brighten our future, I only darkened it. Anything I did seemed to dig a deeper hole. Only God can control my future. I only pray he forgives my mistakes.