That Faithful Day

Michael was a strong boy, or so his mother said. Though he was big enough to carry his sister and help his mother carry their food rations home, he wasn't quite sure if his mother was correct. Despite being 10, he was still the smallest of his class. He was constantly bullied and pushed around; how could he be strong?

His mother however wasn't talking only about physical strength but also the strength of the mind. He didn't know that mental strength would be the very one to carry him through that faithful day, the thing that would keep him going.

The day had started off like any other morning, Michael got up, did his chores and helped with his sister, before rushing to school. To him nothing was different, everything was as it was supposed to be.

At precisely, 2 in the afternoon, there was a shift in the air. When looking back, Michael would say it was like the minute tipping a scale, the ounce that made it unbalanced.

Without any reason, Michael dove for under his desk, his chest hammering. Two beats passed, laughter, another two and Michael saw bright light.

It was funny, he thought again when looking back, that the first thing you see in an explosion is a light. Michael can't remember much after the explosion that faithful day, the few details he does, blurry. He remembers the pain though, oh does he. The pain when he crawled from the wreckage of his desk, the horror when he saw the head of his classmate split open next to him.

He remembers the numbness too, the steeliness alongside that promised himself vengeance.

It was the very thing that kept him from going berserk when he saw his little sister sobbing, fruitlessly trying to awake their mother, whose body lay so still. The very thing that allowed him to not fall prey to them.

Those soldiers that flooded their land after that faithful day, wreaking havoc on their already destitute land, killing anyone who dared to escape. Michael had been terrified of them, he and his sister peeking at them from the shadows of their wrecked home, but he had heard whispers, whispers of a revolt.

He remembered following those whispers, sneaking in the meetings. He started to practice, determined to get his body stronger. Years passed, five in fact, each one more merciless than the next. But finally, that glorious day came, the day when they took their land back from their oppressors.

Only as the years had passed, had Michael slowly learned an appreciation of his mother's words. It was that mental fortitude, afterall, that had gotten him victory from his oppressors.