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Somewhere in the Middle East. Scene 1

04/06/2011 14:53 (comments: 0)

A short story in Baghdad

Iraq war

The Thousand and One Nights…

Grilled lamb and spices smells , colors to blow up your nose…
Colored cries, wire netting covered faces, children’s smiles…

In the distance, threatening shadows with spattered battledress, their weapons showing teeth.
The crowd feigned ignorance, the killers transparency…

People stroll, negotiate, watch.
Everyone makes the same gestures, as a ritual, like a prayer.

People are in a hurry, shift over, have a row.
That horns, that stinks, that squeals.

The place turns into an opera.
I am an eighth, you’re a half-note, she is a treble…
He is entrechat, we are the points shoes, you are crescendo, they are an aria…
The symphony market.
Recently, the rough chaos of the helicopters, as a fanatic bass, is integrated into the music.

“But where is Rashid, how many times I told him to stay with me.
Rashid ? Rashid ?”

Some faces without gaze, turn towards the voice, its incongruous sound that flows from this ball of cloth. They go away without a word, to the emergency.
The emergency of the market, they must act quickly…

“Rashiiid ? Rashiiid ?”

And then she sees his face, lits up with a smile. He looks in her eyes, it seems that he wants to talk…

BOOM !

 

terror in Baghdad

She falls, they fall…
The stalls are flying in the air, members, tears, human beings also…
Destroyed sounds…
The extreme violence…
The sublime horror…
The fire, the pain…
Red and black are the only colors !

To scream is no use and yet she screams…
Rashid has disappeared and her heart breaks.
She clings to her basket as she will cling to a helping hand. These hands who are lying there, in feces and blood.
The hand of a victim? The hand of the fanatic or the one of her son?

It does not matter, they break the dance.
They broke beings, they have renounced life…

She stays up stumbling, cursing the children’s killers.
She can’t feel her arm and is bleeding.

She thinks of the small Aisha that she left with Momo. She wants to hug her, to breast her.

“Rashid, my son! Your little sister needs me !
You’re a big boy now, go to your uncle to borrow his donkey and the cart. You know, tonight we must fetch wood. I am counting on you ! Go, my son, go !”

This work is protected - © 2008 Thierry Benquey - All rights reserved

First image - work of the U.S. federal governmentl - Image Terror - Mass Communication Specialist 2nd Class Eli J. Medellin - 2006 - licence :

Public domain

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