(War of the Unequals )

“Wanted tonight to be perfect just for us..”
“I know, couldn’t wait, you’re perfect yourself….”

He brushes his lips on hers, long enough to feel their breath dance to the same tune. The room is darkly lit by the silhouette of mahogany branches and papyrus reeds that roofs the small cottage house.

“I love how you make me feel.”
“Stop talking and Focus.”

His lips are on her neck. Biting the vein on her nape. It’s hot in here. He hears sobs. He feels her hands pushing him away.
“What’s wrong..?”

“Nothing.”

She kisses him. He’s drown into her. He grasps her hair, and pulls her head towards him. Her lips juts from his. Onto his ears they settle.
“I love you.”

She says. His tongue inside her ears tickling her with desire. Her body shakes. He feels wet liquid slide down on his earlobes. He withdraws himself from her. Stares at her face only to find tears welled up in her eyes. Amidst them, she bursts out.

“I’m sorry, I’m leaving. ”

She drifts her lashes close, as tears befall her cheeks, which are now wrinkled with melancholy.

“What.!? Why….!? I don’t understand. ..what do you mean?”

His heart beat increases. He’s breathing fast. He can hear his own breath. He looks perplexed. With his halfly unbuttoned shirt, Staring at her lying ‘neath him.

“Wish I had more time…”

“I don’t understand. .where are you leaving to??”

“Does it matter.? I’m already gone.”
Clenching his fist. Shouts.
“No, don’t you dare!”

“Wake up Phill. Wake up. I’m not here nor there.”

Now it all rescinds to echoes reverberating inside the walls of his mind.

“No, nooooh”
Screams.
“Easy man. Easy..!”

“No, come back please.”

“You’ve been shot. I need you to stay still. Okay?”

He wakes up to a chaotic atmosphere. Gun shots everywhere.

“Where are we?”

“We’re in the middle of a goddamn battlefield, and you’ve been shot. Be steady. We’ll find the doc before you bleed out.”

The sun is at 12 o’clock. Burning at its helm. Dust and blood mixes with hues of cries of grown men; warriors if you may. The wounded ones; some, limbs blown off, are writhing in agony. Military trucks parades on the far end. Live bullets ricochets from each corner. Be upright and you die. Lay low and get spared. You got to survive. The plan was to gain military weapons if need be. Charred houses are left desolate in the field. Dead bodies piled up over one another, like stacks of maize sacks. Flies and vultures have found a dwelling place. Here, is either you kill or be killed.

The war has been ongoing for 5 years now. The government have been trying to make the rebels surrender. Always pushing them to the brink of their humanity. The rebels, however have grown adamant to the government calls due to agrieviated assaults on women and children by the military men. Women raped. Children mutilated. Men killed. Houses torched by storms of fire. Schools are no more. Hospitals are no more. Churches are no more. All that’s left of them are embers of dark smoke, rising to embrace the sky that now bear cries of the children; wails of their mothers and the last breaths of their fathers. All that’s left are only distant Memories of what once was.

“Stay with me. Let’s get you a doc.”

His eyes drifts unconsciously. He can feel the weight of his body, on the footsteps of those who have carried him; that now makes a thud on the earth from which they all came from. On the rebel territory, there’s only one medical centre, which is running out of medical supplies. Only those with critical wounds are attended to. Only those who can survive. Some are left to perish. To save on the limited resources.

“Doc, we need your urgent help. He’s dying.”

“Let him die. He won’t be the first. What happened to him?”

This is a different world. The war between emancipation and servitude. No media. The world has turned a blind eye. No CNN. No BBC. Somewhere else, in the same country, there lies celebrations and feasts. It’s all merry Christmas. Smoke and booze. Women for brothels. Life is fun on the other side. This coming weekend I hear there would be a wedding. Good schools. But just for the few. Churches are packed full with congregation; and perhaps pretense of confessions. Father forgive us, for we are all sinners. Fine food. Good hospitals. I heard, They had fundraised for the minister’s wife, to go for radiotherapy. Sad. This is the land of the unequal.

“He’s been shot on the ribs. He’s bleeding out.”

“I can see he’s bleeding out. His pulse is too weak. There’s nothing I can do for him. I don’t have the resources.”

“Please doc, he’s the only one I’ve got left.”

His eyes darts off to a slumber. The conversation between the doc and his companions fades away into distant chatters, till its silent.

“Where am I. .?”

The room is darkly lit by silhouette of mahogany branches and papyrus reeds that roofs the small cottage house. There’s a bed across the room. There she lays resting her head on her hands. Despondent, lonely as if waiting for someone to get home, but they never do.

“Honey, is that you..?”

She jumps up from the bed like a perturbed hound. Heart beat racing. No idea if to feel excited or sad.

“Phill, what are you doing here?”

“I came for you honey…”

He moves close to her to embrace her. She’s not happy to see him. Her face shows no emotions.

“If you’re here then it means that you’re. …”

“Dead…?I know. Wanted to see you”

Her breathing gains control. She moves forward to embrace him.

“Doc, please do something. We are losing him.”

“Son, this is war. We have casualties. We lose some people. Mostly the good ones. It’s war. He’s had enough of this world, let him take a sneak peak.”

His heart beat stopped dancing to the rhythm of gun shots. His eyes seized the vision of bullet holes punched through the walls of deserted buildings. In another world he breathes. Air free of dusts and blood. Skies full of stars and free from wails of mothers, cries of their children and last breaths from their fathers. In another world he has found peace.

It’s been 5 years now. Everything is gone. War has taken everything and handed them over to death. All that remains are deserts and fossils of those that never got a chance to be buried in the traditional way. From a distant, you may see a mirage. As steam vaporizes from the earth surface. In them, lies a reflection of the faces we lost during the war. The war of the Unequals.