Damaged

• Blessing Koroma, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2020

You would think that the quiet, peaceful and cool night air breeze would equally mean a peaceful night’s sleep, yet I couldn't sleep. My light brown eyes were swollen from the constant tears that spilled and rolled down my thin dirty cheeks. My body shaking uncontrollably on its own, the screams and anguish of my people filled my head. The sounds of bombs going off in every direction, falling from the skies and falling upon my once beautifully paved neighbourhood. The rumbling of the building’s bricks falling around us as people screamed in terror plunged my mind and dreams. War does that to people, takes everything from you, it has no respect for age, gender nor states. Rich and poor alike are in it together, no man nor woman becomes higher than another. Unless you're the killer, of course, It makes the most powerful people bend down until they are nothing more than dust. No one is too great nor too small, the most innocent people become the most deadly and unforgiving killers.

I couldn't stop the memories, the nightmares that flood my dreams, how can I when I'm still living it every day. My hands shake hysterically, I roughly press my hands against my head, trying to focus on what's in front of me. Trying to drown out the voices in my head. My voice hoarse and dry, I could barely utter a word. My lips cracked, my body shaking violently, I couldn't stop them. No matter how tough I try to be, I will always be weak. Each memory racing through my mind. The rod piercing my skin, tearing it. The feeling of hot blood running down my back, my screams echoing the rooms, but never to be heard.

Tears swelling up in my now puffy and blood-shot eyes. My teeth smashing against each other from the cold air around me. I feel it crawling slowly up my spine giving me a slight chill. Thoughts of the past came flooding back in my mind, I could never truly get rid of them.
“Ximan, shh it's ok, your ok, there not here.” My eye’s snap open as I stare into ones that held so much pain and terror. Our gaze locked; it was just us. My sister and I. Breaking our gaze, casting my eyes down on the grassy floors of the rich yet blood stained earth.
“…I can’t stop them, I couldn’t help, I didn’t save them. I could have saved them khaah, I should have saved them.” I couldn’t hold in my pain and sobbed. I hated crying, I’ve never been one to break or show any emotion when it comes to pain. I’ve always been good at keeping it at bay, keeping it hidden. “No no, baraadar, you can’t blame yourself papa. We can’t save everyone, sometimes we can’t save ourselves. Peda and maadar would have rather died than let you die in their place.” Highly doubt they would want me anymore, I’m a disgrace. I couldn’t even protect my own. I hated this, I hated this pointless war, what is the point in all this bloodshed and killing. What country will they be able to rule when we're all dead, nothing but dust scattered on the earth. “Ximan, stop overthinking things, it will do nothing. We need to find the others.”

My sister was right, but I couldn’t help my mind from wandering back to my thoughts. Everyone was talking about the death of my family, but no one’s knows that my sister and I are alive; I know my parents and brothers are alive too. I refuse to believe they are dead. Best of all, they don’t know there’s a new member of our family. I took my gaze off the gloomy and dirty window, gusting my gaze down on the little bundle cradled in the corner of the room on a small mat. A smile formed on my face as I watched her scrunch her tiny hands into a fist. She was beautiful, I got up from my mat, gently picker her up. Her rich brown skin shone against the moonlight reflecting from the small dirty window. Her thick black curls falling against her delicate chubby face and long thick lashes. Mahta Azar meaning Moonlight Fire. She was the fire that ignited me, gave me the strength to fight. I will find them.