The rain never
seized that day. The rain pitter pattered long beyond what anyone thought was
possible for rain in this drought, I searched for answers as well as much of
words as I possibly could. The fact was it wasn't the rain we feared so much
but the after fact of it all.
He woke in the
sudden of the night, my son. Turning in circles in his little boy mind,
searching for the answers no one seemed to give to us. But, there he was
scouring the neighborhood and the outskirts of remote wire fencing, to let us
know.
You would turn a
corner and you would turn right back around, there was no place for you if the
found out about you. He awoke in a stutter of words and fears, communications
of his kind were unbearable to most folk around these parts. We are salvaged
beings commanding retribution to the commander who pities us senseless where we
had gone before.
Chances are they
weren't looking for us, chances are they were looking beyond us, for what we
couldn't possibly bear. A new frontier that was already linked to us, in a way
we were the way, but possibly more in the line of direct connections.
I went searching
for him, I rounded every corner if I would see him, knowing he would not be
there. Frustration broke out, to panicked fear and an ongoing curriculum of
doubt ran throughout my blood stream, at last I had spotted his hide away, in
plain sight he stood, watching the beckoning war outside our own door front. He
was calm letting me pick him up and chase away with him to a safety. Running
home, flagrant bombs exploding around us, whose war was this again? No sound,
but silent movie subtitles saying we are almost surviving.
I held him so close
and dear, his eyes wide open to all the explosions, he never once began to
blink or tear down his barriers.
We did have men on the inside,
trying to detour all the bullets and ammo aimed our way, they were ombudsman, but the most good
any of them had done was prolong the enchantment, they had not lasted long.
Hung upside down by their feet in sycamore trees. Ornaments, of betrayal.
They had come.
Bursting through our doors, rampaging through our loose luggage. Animals,
deviating by the storm. Taking the women, using them for their games, we were
all recusant beings. His little bed, train tracks circled around it, books
standing upright in all directions, I wanted so badly to lay him down to quiet
my own fears of the night. But, we were boxed in; a small kitchen punctured 45
women and their babies to the white ceramic counter tops and floors. Who knows
where the men had gone. Who knows if there were any left, anymore?
We shuffled and
bustled every which comfortable way we could afford too, Thomas Coy in my arms
and I felt alone. I sat him down, he stood on my toes in front of me, and I couldn't
help but to notice that none of these bodies around me were any I knew, were
any I had ever known. I was trapped in a crowded room, my son and I were alone
in, he knew the very same. We were the last ones to be pushed outside in a
line, fire barrels burning bright around our corridor, and then he spoke to us.
He called us by name in which we responded with lacuna eyes. The words were a
heavy tone we once knew as children, he smiled and laughed engulfing our fear,
along with our rage.
His words somersaulted
over each other as if it were a big charade. We were all going to die today.
The dream came to
me in the middle of the night, halting all relief for an escape.
He ran from as
children do. Like it was some sort of hide and seek game.
Towers and barriers
running in a maze we were all wondering where to go.
He led the way and
I played follow the young leader. I was fearful, even mortified if I lost this
begotten son of mine.
He saw no danger or
death in his path, body after body they carried them away. His sight clear of
all misfortune, his mind at ease from all troubling ailments ahead. It would be
quite a while until I could tell him about the visions I began to have the
night before the invasion. One day he will ask if I knew and it will require me
to answer yes.
He ran too fast in
the dream, he was gone out of sight. He glanced back merely waving to me to
hurry along, but I could not and arrived in a vacant field with no one in
sight.
He is gone my young
son.
Has he disappeared?
Has he been taken by another? Or did I make his life a secret?
There is a belief
that we have changed. That somewhere down the winding road we are capable of
redirecting a new path for mankind.
If that is to be accurate and true, why are we
all suffering and damned?
Was it yours or
mine own fault?
Did we cease to
make a big enough impression on our thought patterns to change the outcome from
yet another disaster?
There will be a
time I am reminded when he will choose to come back to me, to see his mother as
I truly am.
To a time much
better than this one is. To a world that is created far more mature than we may
ever understand.
Until then I shall
wait and watch as the sailors and soldiers tied to the bottoms of boats;
drowning in such misery and despair they forget, no they convince themselves
otherwise they indeed are dying from a natural substance; chaos.
S.M. Bjarnson
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