Boom! Everyone was shaken by such a disrupting noise. They hate it that’s why the go panic-stricken everytime they hear that sound and why they should react like that? Don’t they know that bombs and mortars are well created to sound like roaring volcanoes? Why are they running fast after a deafening whistle from the air which is just another missile tracking its before-made computerized trajectory?  

Flashes of lights are such a fireworks in the sky, wind cutting guns and angry yells from nowhere pounding the sandy ground almost every day since I was born, like  perdition that overflowed towards us. I remember when I was a little kid, 5 or 6 maybe, my mother mandates me to sleep beneath hand-woven crib, it’s too small but she still pressed and covered me with blanket while she is crying so hard. Through a small slit at the right side of the grass crib, I saw my father keeps on firing the green men coming towards our stone walled home so I lay my head back and suddenly I heard my mother screaming in fear. I don’t know why they are putting my father down into his knees and my mother with a thick rope around her neck. I stopped looking because I’m starting to be scared. Shaking and tears start to fall down from my eyes. Then I saw my father lying on the bloody ground and I tried to look for my mother because I will tell her something about the new toy I found. I did not make a sound because the men in green are still there, they are laughing like devils. I saw them seizing my mother, forcing her to climb up the stool with that rope in her neck tied to the big tree where I used to play, I’m already scared, and so I cried and cried but no one perceives me until I fell asleep with no idea about what’s happening.

How could I forget that day? That day they tortured my parents to death, and that day changed my view until I grew up to be what I was, a gruesome soldier of world war 2. But I guess it’s over. And now I’m still sitting at the same crib that mother made, same blanket that covered me many years ago, I can no longer hear those bombs, guns and screams. I cannot feel the impact of exploding mortars anymore. And I should be thankful, right? At this moment, I’m not trying to be sentimental in recalling my past, in fact I should be glad, fulfilled and pleased to have my mother and father beside me holding my hand as we walk away, remembering the journey of my life  when I was living…