An Open Letter From a Dead Child To His Mother On His Death Anniversary

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A mother crying on the death of her child- Peshawar School Attack 16 December 2014, Pakistan.

Ma!

It’s 16 December. The day you saw my blood stained dead body. The day you died along with me. It’s our first death anniversary Ma.

I can see your red swollen eyes today, you didn’t sleep Ma, I know it. I can see your hands tremble while you make tea for Baba. I can hear that painful unspoken conversation between you and Baba. When you look at each other and say nothing, your silence tells me all. The wails of your heart and the cries of Baba’s eyes, they pierce my heart. It’s been a whole year since that happened, but you still live in the moment I died. The days after that, they didn’t pass for you.

I know you can see the wound of bullet on my head bleeding again today. The very place where you used to kiss me before sending me off to school. My white shirt which you used to wash with such pure love, It’s blood stained forever in your heart. You clean my books, my toys, my chair where I’d sit to eat and my plate everyday, with your scarf. Today when you clean, I know you can hear these weep with you.

Remember Ma, the day when they entered our school with big guns and started shooting at the children. There were cries everywhere. I was scared. I called your name. You were not there. You were running in the street towards my school without shoes.

My friends with whom I’d play everyday, they were crying and falling down while bullets hit them. I saw a pile of small bodies on the ground beside me Ma. I was standing in a pool of blood when a bullet hit my arm Ma, It was so painful. I fell on the ground. Your little kid Ma, your baby. I remember how you wept when I once had my arm broken while playing. I had a bullet in it now, I knew you’d come to save me.

They fired up my teacher who tried to save us, she burned to death alive and we saw it. It was all so scary. I wanted to hug you and hide in your shawl. I called you Ma. I tried getting up and run to you but I couldn’t. One of them saw me. He came towards me and put his gun on my forehead. It hurt so much Ma, so much. I looked him in the eyes. I wasn’t afraid of him, he was a coward. I did called you and baba for the last time before he fired the bullet.

I saw you from up there, when between blood stained books and misplaced shoes you searched for me. When in the hospital Baba showed you my little cold body. When you touched my face, brushed my hair and fell down. Hysterical, crying, unconscious. The eyes that you saw shining in the morning, they were dark. The tongue you heard speaking, singing poems while having breakfast, it was silent forever. I felt your pain Ma. I felt the pain of 132 Mothers that day.

Please don’t cry Ma. Do you know, with every tear that sheds from your eyes, a beautiful flower blossoms here in our garden. Oh did I forget to tell you? We are here Ma in this magical garden with green grass and so many beautiful flowers. They smell of you Ma. We play here and laugh. We have Allah here with us, who love us like you do. He takes care of us and He tells us that you and Baba will be here one day and then we’ll live together in peace. No bad people can enter here with their guns.

I want you to be strong Ma. We’ll meet one day. You can kiss me on the forehead then and wrap me up inside you.

Till then, With Love.

Your Brave Son.

 

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From this….
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To this…

 

 

 

 

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Preamble Of My Death Note

Bones in the Desert

You know some people, they are like barren land. Vast, sorrowful, grieved. The mud that forms their skin loses life and gains the gloom of empty, fruitless desert. They breath dry mud. Instead of blood, they have misery flowing through their veins. Barren land and barren people, both are hopeless. Unwanted.

When rain falls down on them for an instant, it gives birth to hope. A dangerous feeling it is. It kills with the most blunt knife ever. Hallucinate you with dreams and then break these with it’s own fist, into your eyes. The shards of glass cut through the eyeballs, blood falls drop by drop, for centuries. Yes centuries.

May be if hope wasn’t there at the first place, life would have been smooth. It is easy to develop habits and live by these, whether of painful moments or living forever in the dark. It is simple to go with the flow, with no flowers and sunshine, if one hasn’t EVER seen flowers and sunshine. Going back after taking a long journey is tiring. Really tiring.

Have you ever experienced the torture, when your fingers cry and eyes can’t ? When your heart yearns to vomit out pain but your eyes, they don’t let it no matter how much that sting. No matter how much your mere existence pricks you like a thorn. No matter how much you want to put a pistol on your head and shoot without any pause, but you can’t. You just can’t.

You feel lonely in the middle of a crowd. Rain falls from the sky but leaves you dry. Green leaves of spring turns to yellowish orange ones of autumn around you. Chilly winds suffocate you. You can’t breathe. In that moment, no one knows how much, HOW MUCH you want to close your eyes and die in peace.

But you can’t. You just can’t.

Cannibal

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Source: Joycreations.

His sharp knife pierced through the flesh and cut it to pieces at a single jerk. It was the lower part of a leg. Upper part was already cut. A head smoothly cut apart from the neck was laying at a corner of the table. Small pieces about the size of 3 inches each were arranged along the sides. After cutting the leg into similar pieces he put them along with the others.

Then he leaned towards the head and pulled out the eyes, one by one with the tip of his knife. He saved the eyes in a small glass bowl and licked the stains on his fingers.

After that,he pulled in some air, grabbed a big bucket in both his hands and started pouring a viscous red fluid into the bottles, one by one. When all the bottles got filled, he closed the lids tightly and put them one by one in the lower shelf of his almost empty fridge, a single half filled bottle of this red fluid was already lying there. Head was placed on the first shelf and finely cut meat pieces went on the middle ones.

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He opened his eyes while laying under the blue sky and green grass midst a row of long trees. After his blur vision got clear he realized that he was present in an alien place. Wiping off his hands he stood up.

The last thing that was saved in his vivid memory was a fight with her mom and he ran away from home after that. “It’s been two days, she must be worried for me” He thought to himself, setting the school bag on his shoulder.

He gazed for a while at a light shining far away at the end of the long road and followed it. It was coming out from a bulb hung on the roof of a small wood house. He knocked at the door and pushed it inside.

The door opened with a sharp squeak. He glanced inside, a man was sitting on a chair. A glass half filled with a red viscous fluid was lying on the table in front of him. “Can I come inside?”

An evil smile occupied his face. “Yes kid, come in !” He said in a heavy voice and locked the door behind him.

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Daily Prompt:show us CLOSE.

This story is written for Write on Edge. This challenge gives us two options, whether to write about the quote or about the photo. I chose the photo. Click on the badge to see complete guidelines and to participate.