"The charm of mortal life, since her arrival has been joy, thoughts and longing of togetherness...a wish to be always behind her and protect her...maybe life after all gives us a second chance. And with your arrival, I now indeed believe that it sincerely does for our heavenly father cannot be heartless, as he instilled us with hearts of love, trust, faith, compassion and joy! .....
......Time tickles in joy and passes with a melancholic song. The hollow cry of penetrable sounds from the wild beasts underneath the moonlight alerts me of your hopeful
presence...and I am waiting..."
(extracted from: Stars Fall Down)
- Pratik Rimal
- Kathmandu, Nepal
- Ever since I first started to write my first poem and article, I've loved to write. I continue to learn to write. In doing so, I let my feelings, thoughts, and emotions run wild and let people know what I intend to say, what I want to say. For me, writing is a creative expression to express what we never can say by speaking... Your readings and feedback are always important to me. Therefore, I wish that you'd write to me. My email address: firstname.lastname@example.org Cell: +977-98511-42610
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
The alarm suddenly brought life to the barrack. Doors opened and slammed down as a thousand combat boots ran out and about in confusion, but quickly reorganized themselves following their chain of command and took position to secure the barrack and ready to shoot. But Rocket Propelled Grenades (RPGs) struck the barrack from all sides. Soon, bodies of some colleagues lay on the ground. Seeing the ambush, other soldiers queried what fate held for them. As the soldiers exchanged fires with the enemies, more and more RPGs and mortar rounds struck the roof of the barrack and its peripheries—burning armored vehicles and demolishing the barrack and its posts. Some soldiers were crushed by the falling roofs and buildings, while some were charred to death. The two days retreat from violence now rattled with bullets. Pungent smoke of gasoline and that of charred soldiers along with the debris frequently obscured the men-in-uniform to breathe and see past the flames. As the military backfired and ran, fear gripped their minds. With every shot they fired from their Maverick M4A1, Krieg 552, CV-47, IDF Defenders and other machine guns, they suddenly saw their worst nightmare—something they had repeatedly extended for a dozen times. But this time, this unexpected intrusion, this circled rampage was as much a shock as it was their last ritual’s hymn through rattling bullets and not that of the temple bells which promised sanctity.
The insurgents had cordoned the barrack from all sides and were weighing mighty. The ambush steadily outnumbered the army and the latter were continually shrinking. With every soldier falling down, spare arms and ammunition lay abundantly on the grounds until the enemy stripped them off from the dead soldiers. More than living soldiers, many rested eternally. Those alive stared at the peaceful soldiers and queried the cost of war, the reasons of battles as much as they feared their awaiting silences.
“Man down! Man down! General, we are being outnumbered. We need backup” a Sergeant said over his radio.
“Sergeant, hold as much as possible. Backup will be there in 20 minutes,” the General’s voice spoke from the other end, 150 kilometers away—safe from the battleground.
“20 minutes?” the Sergeant barked from the other end as dodged a bullet. “We need immediate backup Sir!”
Ducking bullets as he ran, a soldier reached the Sergeant, panting. He stopped to hold his breath—“Sir, around 300 of us are left. What do we do?” the soldier said as fear gripped his face.
“We will soon have backup—till then, we need to hold as long as possible. Everything will be fine now,” the Sergeant said. He then spoke over his radio which was stuck on his right chest.
“Alfa One, Alfa One…I repeat, Alfa One” “Yes Sergeant,” the familiar voice of the General replied back.
“How long is there for backup General? We are only 300 good soldiers left” the Sergeant said.
“15 minutes Serge” the General replied. “I hope the backup comes soon Sir,” the Sergeant replied coolly, only to hide his fear in front of the soldier and the line went dead. The soldier had heard the conversation. He looked at the Sergeant with innocence and asked, “What is the cost of war Serge? Why do we fight?”
These were simple questions that had no answers. The only ones who could answer them laid in silence for eternity. The Sergeant looked at the soldier’s face in bleak light—he was a tall young man of around 5’10 with physique of an athlete. “He must be around 23” the Sergeant said to himself and looked at the fine strokes of youth that reflected on his face. As he observed the soldier’s features, the Sergeant stared at his eyes. The soldier’s eyes resembled to that of someone whom he had left behind—someone whom he had promised that he would be back and that they’d go for fishing and Water Kingdom and zoo. He remembered his son.
As the Sergeant continued to observe the soldier’s features, the latter’s mouth kept forming shapes—first, his lower jaw lowered down and then, moved up and again lowered down—as if in some unknown rhythm and cohesion. “Sir…Sir… …SSSSSS…..IIIIII…….RRRRRR”. The soldier shook the Sergeant’s arms and he was back to the deafening reality. Just when he looked at the soldier, rounds of bullets seared past the soldier from the back and thudded on the front of his body armor. The soldier fell over the Sergeant and both lay on the ground. The soldier’s aspiring youth, his fine features and his future all silenced with the bullets. Tears filled the soldier’s eyes as he held his stomach….smiled and bid a farewell to his Serge.
As the soldier fell, he saw his son falling and immediately rushed for support. In angst, he screamed his son’s name, asking him to wake up, promising him that they’d go fishing and to the Water Kingdom and zoo. He shook the soldier ferociously, yelling his son’s name. When the soldier didn’t wake up, he embraced him and wept like a child. “Daddy, what is the cost of war?” his son seemed to say. Only after the gun slipped from the soldier’s hands did he come back to reality.
As the Sergeant attempted to get up, he heard encroaching footsteps of some enemies. He closed his eyes and lay on the same position—he looked dead with blood from the dead soldier covering his face.
“Make sure no one lives,” one of the five said. One of them kicked the dead soldier, smiled and said, “As dead as good”. Another lit a cigarette and they conversed—“it was such a brilliant plan from the Major. These two were the last two.”
The Sergeant had his eyes closed so he could not see any of them except hearing their voices. Tears filled his eyes and he tried to breathe when he heard that he was the last man. A voice broke from an enemy’s radio—“Captain, are all dead?”
The Sergeant once again heard a familiar voice that had first kicked the young soldier. “Yes Major. I shot the last two.”
“Good” the voice replied back and after a pause, asked them to return. In turn, the five militias once again kicked the young dead soldier and went along. Then, there was silence—an uneasy silence that attempted to speak but faltered every time it tried to utter a word.
Amidst the memories of the rattling bullets and far cries, fires and ashes, the Sergeant immersed into himself—lost wondering what fate had befallen upon him. He remembered his son, his wife and daughter. He remembered the promises he had made. His eyes moistened with tears and they gently rolled over his cheeks and onto the ground. Suddenly, the young soldier’s voice and his son’s voice echoed in unison, “Serge, what is the cost of war? Why do we fight?” and he was fiercely pulled back to the battleground.
“These were the last ones Major”, the Sergeant remembered the Captain saying. He then walked—limping—to see the damage. The sight of dead bodies covered with thousands of flies swarming and humming filled him with remorse. Everyone had died except him. He was the last man standing—and he did not win—he was alone. “What is the cost of war?” the soldier’s voice echoed once again and the Sergeant cried like a child. “I do not know the cost of war…” he said frantically. “I DON’T KNOW THE COST OF WAR” the Sergeant cried and there was silence.
This silence was deafening pain—the cacophonous sounds of the guns in his memories were never-ending. Soldiers all lay dead till his eyes could see. The 30 mile barrack, home to the enormous troop of a 1,000 soldiers, were witnesses to the horror of the night’s battle—not without sustaining blows that demolished the posts—as swiftly as soldiers were blown by the unexpected gunfire. It was also their graves—their burial grounds where leaders would soon mourn the dead and vow revenge.
The 999 boots made no sounds. The only combat boot that made sound was a dragging sound—that from the Sergeant’s. The Sergeant screamed and cried over and over again. Suddenly, a bullet thudded on the Sergeant’s right temple. It seared through the other end. The Sergeant fell back and his revolver fell from his hand. The Sergeant rested on the ground, and he was the last man. Fresh blood flowed from his temples
NATION’S BLACKEST DAY
By: FREEDOM REPORTER Sept. 25,
IN A DISTANT COUNTRY
All the 1000 soldiers stationed at the barrack, and another 200 soldiers who had gone for backup were killed after armed insurgents attacked them at 10 PM on Monday. The Barrack was completely destroyed.
“Seeing the damage, we believe that the insurgents far exceeded the soldiers. So far, we have found 500 dead insurgents,” Communication officer of the Army Office said. “The barracks have been completely damaged,” the Officer added.
According to the Army Headquarter, 96 had been crushed by the demolitions, 50 charred to death and the remaining 854 were killed in crossfire.
“Seeing traces of fresh blood from the Sergeant, we believe that he was the last man killed,” the press release issued by the Headquarter read. Security forces involved in the rescue operation expressed the scene as horrific.
“The scene was heart-rending. Soldier lay everywhere. Flies swarmed over their bodies, scavenger birds gnawed and ripped off meat from the dead bodies,” a soldier said. “This is the blackest day in the country’s history,” the President said as he addressed the country.
Meanwhile, the Prime Minister said that the act was heart-rending and assured the bereaved ones of compensation worth five million rupees. “They were brave soldiers. May their souls rest in peace,” was all the Army’s General said.
“What was the cost of war? Why did my husband had to die? Why many husbands, sons and brothers had to die? What did we get after the deaths?” a widow of a deceased soldier from the barrack said as she cried.