Sophie

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"She talked. Sir she talked at last!" 1989.
"Sir she talked at last"
"She talked! Sir she talked"

"stop. copy that."
"sir she talked at last."

It was in 1951; on a normal summer day. We were at the office when it all started. The bombs, the people dying, screaming... and the little girl with the red bonnet. Look I don't know where this story is going, but she walked in at about 12:45..... pm. Well to be exact, at 12:45 and 29 seconds. 12:45 and 29 seconds pm. Teddy bear in one hand. She looked sad, alone, in despair, but not

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confused. She was only six and yet she knew what all this meant. Death, desolation, desperation. Death. She knew what those things meant. I could see it in her eyes. She took my hand. Impulsively..... as though it had been her intention from the moment she left the womb. Looked right into my dark blues. "my dad" she told me. And from then on never breathed a word.

I was intrigued. Not only by that single two-worded sentence. But how did she get here, to us and why? The circumstances, political, in which we found ourselves on that day and at that time, obligated us to lock her in for questioning. We put her through examinations and so on. In times of war, the most harmless of creatures may bear the deadliest of weapons. Not knowing where she came from nor who she was, the enemy or a compatriot, we took her in for questioning off course. We also didn't have much of a choice. Nevertheless where she came from; A compatriot or an enemy. Showing up at our doorstep meant she had no other place to go.

That two-worded sentence. I found most intriguing. The other's did not pay much attention to that and dismissed it for daddy issues. But it bothered me. Something about that sentence, the way she said it. The intensity in her eyes. Maybe it was just the war-time circumstances. I couldn't confirm for she never talked and continuously day by day, by week by month by years, all the years that went by. Seconds, milliseconds. Every god damn interrogation she gave me that same intensity. Nothing else. It bothered me. It bothered me a lot. Not knowing what she was hiding. Yet knowing she was hiding something. It bothered me. That glance, that glare, those demon eyes! Seeping through my soul banging at my door. It bothered me. She bothered me. Not knowing why she was here. No explanation. Nothing. It just bothered me. Seeing her there all, all Smug! Those smug eyes. Just seeing her there, it bothered me. Not being able to get a word out of her! Not one word. Not even a sound ... Until this day.

... She said a word! she talked!

1989

"Sir! she talked"

"at last! at last sir, she talked!"

"copy that."

"she talked at last"

What did she say?

"What did she say?"

"copy that."

"What did she say?"

"Hello? Frank! What did she say?" ...

"Uh, Nothing sir... She said nothing." "She said nothing"

"copy that"
"Sir she said nothing."

Sir: "Nothing? What do you mean nothing?! Didn't you say she talked? What did she say exactly?"

"Nothing? What do you mean no—"

Sir: "No you idiot! Tell him to tell me what she said!"

"No you idi—"

Sir: "No! Stop. Get out of here! Let me do this myself." Sir: "What exactly did she say? What words were used?" "What exactly did she say?"
"copy that"

"What exactly did she say?" "Hello? Frank?"
"Frank. What did she say exactly?"

"Frank? Frank! Are you there?"
"Frank! We need to know what she said. Hello? Frank? Frank are you the—" "We lost him."
"copy that"
"Sir, We lost him."
Sir: "We lost him?"
"Yes Sir.... we lost him."
Sir: "We LOST him?"
"We lost him."
Sir: "Raise the flag.... Out. Copy that. Frank... out. Raise the flag." "Raise the flag"
"copy that"
"Raise the flag. Frank. Out."

...

Don't worry. I'm still here. Somewhere here. Somewhere in this story. This story isn't about me nor about my disappearance. The little girl. The child who once was 6; currently 38. Although she grew; and nevertheless what happen... Her eyes still shine with innocence. Once mute. If only... IF ONLY, she had stayed mute.

Things wouldn't have been this way. They shouldn't have. I didn't want them to be this way. What happen wouldn't have happen. Now that it happen, that it has been said; all is done. Decisions have been made life goes on. Our past becomes our present thought, contaminating our future lives. We can move away from the past. Ignore it until it no longer happen or let it linger in our minds, our lives. After decisions were made, actions were taken, things were said; there is no going back. We move or we stay, we live with or make disappear, we face we ignore, we let go or hold on. To forget or ask forgiveness. Things shouldn't have come to this. I didn't want them to. They wouldn't have.

I've faced battles head on. Walked through fields drowned in mines. Strangled men with my own hands. Never once did I think twice. Never, once did I fear. Never once did I worry. Never once did I feel regret... nor remorse. I believed I was invincible. I conquered. Not once did I fail. I am a warrior. Honorable in every possible way. Never once did I imagine. Not once. That the toughest battle I'd face was that with the past, the uncertain, the unconscious, the subconscious. The repressed. The battle with myself, my actions, the past, my thoughts, the past, the past. The past, how could I forget. The past. But. But this is not my story. This is Sophie's story. The little girl with the red bonnet. This is not my story. Mine to tell. But not MY story. No. This isn't my story.

This is Sophie's story.