Creative Writing "The Interior - Chapter 2"

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The Interior – Chapter 2

The dust had long settled in her kinky black hair and formed streaks that ran lengthwise from her scalp down her face. Dust mixed with tears forms mud which is caked to her cheeks in such a way that she resembles a warrior princess preparing for battle. But her heart is not prepared for war or pain or loss. It is not ready to move forward… alone. It isn’t ready to address the insurmountable tasks that sit right before her. So, she lies there alone in a pile of rubble allowing the weight from the debris to embrace her like the clutches of a parent… a parent she never knew.

The yelling had long ceased and the activity had been followed by an eerie silence which penetrated the atmosphere. It was a silence that brought a ringing which started as an annoyance and grew so loud that you’d have to cover your ears, knowing that the hands upon your ears made no difference but simply to placate your own soul.

A young woman in her early twenties passed the empty doorway of the hut. She saw the blood and had heard what had happened, but was looking for something else.

“Sharah. Sharah.” Her voice was low. Taking two steps into the hut she whispered, “Sharah, it’s me. Are you here? Sharah. Answer me.”

Her eyes moved quickly from the left to the right, surveying the carnage. It looked nothing like the hut she remembered from her youth. It was darker now. The sun didn’t set the way it once did and the rays which would dance on the walls had been replaced by shadows which only haunted its inhabitants. Reaching over, she grabbed a board and moved it. Then another. Then another. Then another until she exposed a small hand encrusted with blood. Her heart sank, realizing that she had found what she came to find.

With a burst of energy she began throwing the pieces of wall to the left and the right. Her tears fell steadily as she repeated, “No Sharah. No Sharah. No Sharah.” First an arm was exposed and then a leg and then a torso until finally, Sharah’s face was lit up by the shadows.

A deep cut was exposed on her forehead. Lips split from dehydration. Her eyes remained fixed upon the ceiling as her stomach exposed the thin, shallow breaths she was taking.

“Sharah. Can you hear me? Are you OK? Sharah.” She scooped the pile of bones into her arms and brought her close to her chest. She wished that she could give away life. She would freely give hers at this moment. She would allow this young girl… this child… to take her very breath… to take her very life. She would gladly die in this jungle to know that another child didn’t have to perish under the hands of that madman.

Sharah coughed and then whispered an unintelligible word. The woman was brought back to the reality of the situation. Putting her arms under Sharah’s legs and back, she picked her up and carried her to the door. She peered deeply to the left and to the right. She could still see the truck tracks and the trees which had suffered under their wrath as the soldiers exited the village. She could hear the soft muffled cries of moms who had lost sons or wives who had lost the love of their lives. She tiptoed through the doorway and went right – hoping to make it to the hut of Tsu-Tsu, the village doctor.

Every step brought a crack of a twig or the rustle of palm branches that echoed in the silence. She knew how much the militia would love to get their hands on Sharah. She had heard stories about how entire villages had been stripped of their young girls. She also understood that even though she had grown up with the people in this village and knew that they all had good hearts; she also knew that they’d be willing to give over Sharah at the hopes of getting their loved ones back. She couldn’t blame them. Loss and grief causes you to do the unspeakable sometimes, allowing you to look at your actions from the past tense instead of the present.

Dipping in between trees and huts, she was making good time. Sharah was repeating the same word over and over again. All of a sudden they stopped and slammed into the side of a hut.

“You! You! You! Everything… Put it all in here!”

The one speaking orders was close. He was right on the other side of the hut and spoke with authority and rage. Then she heard the voice… the voice of Tsu-Tsu.

“I will give you whatever you want. I will give you whatever I have. But, please sir, please don’t hurt the people. You can have everything here in the village. Just please let the people go. Please don’t take them.”

“We will do whatever we do. I’m not asking for permission. I’m giving an order.” She heard a button unlatch and then the sound of a pistol’s hammer being pulled back. “If you choose to disobey, I will treat you like the others.”

“Ok. Ok. Just don’t shoot. Please put that away. I’ll do whatever. This? Do you want this? Ok. Where do you want it?”

You could hear the hammer fall gently back into place. “That’s better. I want this entire hut placed in the truck. We need all the medical supplies we can get. And hurry up. I still have to catch up with the trucks before nightfall.”

Leaning tightly against the thatching, she slid down. Sitting there, she pulled Sharah close to her chest. Her heavy breaths told of sleep. In the background, she could hear the boxes being loaded onto the truck. These boxes carried with them life… they carried hope. With their disappearance, so went the only chance of restoration… of rebuilding… of renewal.

So she sat, buried in thatching. She sat buried in her thoughts. She sat buried under the weight of a child who was in desperate need of something far greater than medicine. She was in need of hope… of love… of redemption.

(C) 2009 GP Hintz