Darkness (part 2)

Rain splattered down his face. Green, red and black spots danced in front of his eyes. His breathe came out in gasps as he slowly staggered along the row of houses. Peter did not hope to find a shelter but the pain was way too much. The bullet had hit him below the shoulder blades. He was till mobile so that meant his spinal cord had been unaffected by the bullet. But that deduction didn't bring any relief to him. He was still in excruciating pain and slowly bleeding to death. Peter had waited till the man was gone, then somehow staggered to his feet and started walking. He forced himself to keep walking even when all his senses begged for him to stop and fall, embrace the inevitable. But Peter walked on. He had left behind a block almost. He saw occasional corpses here and there and closed doors. No one was willing to help a stranger. Most houses didn't have any inhabitants left. The ones which did, didn't want to invite trouble. Each step reminded Peter that he was alone.

Suddenly he could go no more. He felt himself giving up. He had pushed his body to the limit and now his body was fighting back, it was shutting down. No matter how much he tried, he could not take another step forward. He looked forward. He was standing in front of a small house, with a white door. All he had to do was climb 4 steps. Just 4 steps. But his legs refused. He fell down and despite the pain pulled himself up onto the final step. The front porch was still wet from the heavy shower. He reached for the doorbell but it was too high and he didn't have any strength to get up. He could feel his vision blurring, the dancing spots grew heavier. He was getting dizzy. With the last burst of energy, he knocked on the door, twice. He knew no one was coming but at least the porch was covered, which meant he was safe from the direct rain. Not that it mattered anyway. Where he was going, nothing mattered. Maybe that’s why it was a better place. Maybe he was already there because it was dark, very dark. The pain was almost gone. Peter was finally at peace, he already like this ‘better place’.

Jean hated the world around her. She hated what the world had come to. She had witnessed the most heinous of crimes, crimes she never thought man could resort to. The rioting, the mass outrage, fighting, killing disgusted her. The only thing she hated more was the feeling of helplessness. She couldn't do anything to help the people, to save at least some of them. After all, her brother was out there; But not among the victims, among the perpetrators, the monsters leading the mob. While her brother’s prolonged absence worried her, she was thankful that at least with him gone, the house was peaceful. All she could do now was pray for the departed souls and the ones they left behind. She could only hope that someday this would end. She was lost in thought when she heard a faint knock on her door.

 “Joyce?” She called. No answer, just another faint knock.

Jean remained silent. She carefully listened for any sign of disturbance outside but everything was quiet. Finally she gathered enough courage to open the door.

There was no sign of her brother. Instead, a boy her age lay at her feet. Her clean porch was streaked with red. The boy was bleeding profusely but he wasn't moving. Jean instinctively checked for his pulse. It was there, weak, but there still. He was alive. The unexpected arrival had left her flabbergasted but she took a few deep breaths to calm herself. She quickly surveyed the street to check if anyone was watching, then she slowly pulled the boy inside her house and closed the door behind them. She locked it for good measure. She finally had some work to do.

Three hours had passed. Jean had somehow managed to stop the flow of blood from his knee which had a deep gash. The boy had a bullet wound on his back which worried her. For the lack of anything better, she had used a kitchen knife to scoop out the bullet. After she had dressed the wounds, she scooped few spoonful of water into his mouth, which, she was happy to see, he swallowed. She switched off the lights, drew the curtains together ad lighted a candle. She had made every arrangement to make sure that the house looked in empty. Then she sat down beside his bed and waited.

Darkness (Part 1)

Darkness. That’s what he saw when he slightly parted his eyes. He was supposed to be sound asleep. Then why was he awake? He looked around his dark room. Nothing was out of place. Something had disturbed him enough to wake him up. But what?  Peter blinked and slowly sat up in his bed. He suddenly became aware of some noise coming from downstairs. No, not just noise, sounds of angry voices and cries for help. He felt cold dread creep into his heart. His family was downstairs, he needed to go and help them at once! He jumped out of bed but stopped short in his tracks. He could hear foot steps on the staircase. Someone was headed right to his room! For a moment he just froze. His limbs refused to move while his brain went on an overdrive frantically trying to think of something, anything. Then his instincts kicked in. He hastily crawled under his bed, carefully hiding behind a trunk. From where he was positioned he could see the floor in front of the door. Few seconds later, a streak of light appeared on the floor, growing wider and wider as someone opened the door. He saw a heavy boot step in, followed by another. The pair of boots slowly walked towards the bed and stopped. The very slight movement told him that the owner of the boots was surveying the room. Peter was terrified. His heart was frantically beating and the dread, almost tangible. The pair of boots turned towards the door, the owner having decided that the room was evidently empty, and walked out not bothering to close the door. The noises downstairs were clearer now. Peter could hear the pleas and commands; he recognized his mother’s wail and his brother’s indignant shout. He wanted to run down and help them, but fear had paralyzed him. From his hiding place, the room in the attic, he knew exactly what the situation was downstairs. He was shell shocked but not surprised. He had his family had been living with that terror for days now. In a country torn by riots and war, Peter could only hope and pray for a better outcome but he was very sure that God was too busy to answering his prayers right now. The mob had reached his house. He had to do something. Couldn't just sit there and let his family be killed. He slowly crawled out and stood up. The voices were now outside and had somehow multiplied. The neighbors a small voice in head whispered. As he made his way out of the room and down the stairs, he felt his hand shaking. He crept out of the back door, behind the fence and looked. His jaws dropped in shock. His heart stopped and his leg gave away. He sat down and peeped out from the gap between the fences, tears streaming down his face.

The mob had dug a ditch, some paces ahead. It was almost full already, with corpses. The raid or whatever they called it was coming to an end. The country was torn with strife. Peter had heard the news, fearful whispers. They said the militia was killing people, wiping out small towns and villages but Peter had hope they were just rumors, exaggerated ones. But it was all true. All of it. He wanted to cry, to run and save his family, to kill those cold blooded murderers but he didn't. He couldn't. He couldn't see his mother anymore. She had already been “taken care of” he realized. He felt his heart break into a million pieces when he saw them put a bullet in his brother and throw him in. They then proceeded to cover the ditch with soil. Peter was numb with fear, pain and horror. He had witnesses the horrific end of his family and couldn't do anything about it. He saw the men leave but he didn't have the courage or the strength to come out from the bushes. He trembled in silent anguish. He lost count of time. He just sat there. What had the world come to? Men killed others without any apparent reason? On the basis of what religious or political belief one may harbor? These differences call for spirited debate, not mass murder! His father had always told him, “Son, always respect an individuals point of view even if it differs from your own. You never know, by listening to his side of the story, you may learn something new.” But all those words seemed hollow right now. He wondered what his father would have done… his father…of course! His father wasn't here! He was far away from him, in the city. And he was safe. Peter had received a letter from him that very morning stating that the city life, though difficult, was safer due to the strictly imposed curfews and heavy police cover. His father had promised to bring them to the city the moment he could.Peter cried bitterly. Whenever that moment came, it would be too late. His family was gone. Now he could do only one thing. Somehow make his way to the city and unite with his father. That was the only thing left of his life. Peter decided that he would start at once.

It had begun to rain. Peter shakily stood up and walked over 

to the grave. The loose soil was starting to form mud, limbs 

and faces sticking out of the ditch. He knelt down and prayed. Suddenly he heard a gruff voice, and footsteps. He turned around only to feel an intense pain in his ribs. One of the men had come back!

The man kicked him before reaching for his holster but the gun appeared to have been stuck. Peter took that chance. He pushed the man and ran. He had expected that man to follow but was surprised when he didn't. Peter had hardly gone a few meters when he felt a blinding pain on his back, near his shoulder. He was shot. Peter fell down with a stifled scream. He heard the man come over to him. Instead of killing him, the man just left. Peter was left to slowly bleed out in the rain and die.