Life-Line

The Beginnings...

The sky was a clear black, stars set into it like sequins on a tapestry. The wind blew through the straw blinds, caressing his face, tossing a lock of his black, glossy hair. He turned over, facing the cracked, fading wall. A lone mosquito threw itself repeatedly at the worn mosquito net draped over his bed. Straw poked out of the sides of the burlap sack that was rested upon a frame of iron bars. The boy shifted on his makeshift mattress. One of his eyes opened suddenly. He felt strange, as if something was about to happen. He shook his head; why would he think that. He settled his head back down. That is when the shell hit.

A massive explosion shook the house, and chunks of ceiling and dust fell upon him. He got up, and staggered through the dust, ears ringing. He reached out to find the door handle through the haze. Pushing his hand forward, he lost his balance and fell forward, to find nothing. The door, which lay shattered on the floor, had been blown off its hinges by the blast from the shell. Dazed and confused, he stepped into his parent's cramped room. A wailing emanated from the present room

He stepped through the doorway, and stood in shock. The entire wall opposite was gone, bricks and rubble strewn across the room like a child's toys. And then, next to the far room, lay a body, a figure knelt over it, heaving its shoulders, as if sobbing. Cautiously he approached the scene, feet dragging across the floor. He could make out the features of his father, his face screwed up in anguish and sorrow. On the floor below him lay a lady, chestnut skin was plastered with powder from crumbled wall. Green eyes stared vacant at the ceiling. Her brown hair lay splayed across the floor, matted and damp.

The boy stared. Forehead was engraved with a crimson wound, arcing from her hair line to the corner of her eyes. Blood pumped out the wound, like a split water skin. A soaked cloth lay next to her, blots of blood adorning it. It had been used in a vain attempt to stem the steady flow of blood, but to no avail. The father looked, and seeing the boy, opened his arm, and the boy immediately slumped forward into his side, relishing the comfort it brought him. Tears streamed down his face, dampening the sweater that the man wore. Clasping the women's silk dress in his hand, a single word escaped his mouth. 'Mama'