The P. P. A. Project

Chapter Eleven - Symbols (Their Story)

Chapter Eleven - Symbols (Their Story)

Part One - The Chief

"Chandu! Chandu come quickly! Follow mother!" Abioye shouted as she stumbled over the rubble of her burning village. She continued to rush her young son, Chandu, as he followed behind her with his small legs.

The small African village was being overrun by soldiers searching for villagers left alive from the first attack. They were there just to kill. There wasn't any other reason. This had been happening all over the land but nobody thought it would actually happen to them. They had been peaceful for years.

"Please hurry, Chandu!" He stumbled and fell to a tarp which had fallen from one of tents. Abioye turned back and shouted again. There were tears falling down her dark skin washing away at the dust which was covering their bodies.

The trucks, which were running over the bodies of their friends and setting fires to their homes, were stirring up quite the dust storm in the already heavy winds of the African desert.

"Stand, boy! Stand now!"

Chandu reached up to take his mother's hand as she turned back to assist him, his small brother strapped across her shoulders and resting at level with her stomach and chest. He was crying so loudly it caused a ringing in his ears.

"Mother, please help me!"

"Chandu!"

As her hand was ready to touch his, three men came from behind a burning shed and shoved a gun to both Chandu and Abioye's heads. She screamed out and grabbed her boy as they surrounded the small family.

"Don't you move, woman. Don't you dare try to escape us!"

Chandu stood and tried to punch at the large man, his skin darker than the unholy night which would soon be upon them during the largest massacre in the history of their people. The man laughed and kicked him in his small stomach causing him to fly back and hit the wood of a tent left standing.

They laughed as they spoke a foreign language over the radios. Abioye had heard it before. It was English. She couldn't quite understand but she knew what it was. Chandu hadn't a clue. The Americans who were teaching them had yet to actually put sentences together in the language.

Blood dripped down from his small mouth as he watched as they cuffed his mother and took the baby from her wrap. They then charged at him and also began to restrain him.

"Where are you taking my son?"

"Hush woman! Or you will never see your boy again! Take her to base. I will handle this one."

They drug his mother away as a hummer pulled up with a cart attached. There were several other women in back moaning and screaming, trying to break free from the prison. As it opened, a few women tried to charge the men but were rushed back as the weapons were pointed to the small children that remained outside as well as at the small baby they now carried.