Huturo huddled in the bush, trying to be as small and quiet as possible. He could hear them searching, Goma and William, slashing through the thicket with their machetes. Please, please, go the other way. Please. I don’t want to kill anyone. He cradled his AK-47, as long as he was tall, in trembling arms.
He heard a loud whistle, and held his breath. Apparently one of them thought they found something. His trail. Some sign. The whacks of the machetes fell silent. He strained to hear any sounds of movement, any indication they were onto him.
He had seen what they did to deserters. Kwame, a year Huturo’s junior, was kept alive back at base camp, armless, as an example to the rest. Like Huturo, Kwame did not want to be a soldier, did not want to kill anyone. He just wanted to go home.
No one goes home. Goma made that abundantly clear.
He was just starting to relax when he heard a twig snap some yards in front of him. He wiped away the tears, brought the rifle up, and braced himself. Seconds ticked by. Then, straight ahead of him, the brush parted. William spotted him.
William flashed a big toothy grin, as if he was glad to see him. “Come out here, boy. You can’t run away from us.” He seemed oblivious of the rifle aimed right at his head. He doesn’t think I’ll shoot, Huturo realized. At the same time he realized that there was no way both of them were going to survive this day.
William took one step towards him, raising the machete as he came. A very brief flash of surprise crossed the man’s face when Huturo pulled the trigger.
Huturo scrabbled backwards, away from the body, trembling like a leaf. He began to hyperventilate. The world around him began to get small, and dark around the edges. It slowly registered that he could hear someone shouting. He forced himself to breath slower. The world came back into focus.
He could hear mad hacking, and cursing. Goma’s voice. Getting closer. He scrabbled back, to put more distance between the body and himself, then took up position again.
Goma crashed through the brush and nearly tripped over William’s body. He squatted, to briefly examine his fallen Sargent, then looked up right at Huturo. “Why, you little turd!”
Again, the briefest flash of surprise.
Weeping, Huturo shouldered his rifle and turned towards home. With any luck he could get there in time for his tenth birthday.
—
©2009 by J. M. Strother, all rights reserved.
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Awwwwwwww
Very strong punch, this one
Tight write here Jon.
Heartbreaking. Huturo had to do what he never wanted to in the first place. Such a small boy living a life no 10-yr-old should have to endure.
Powerful story. Very well written.
It’s unfortunate that applause can’t be heard via the internet. What an amazing twist and what an amazing example of survival of the fittest. Bravo.
~chris
Strong writing and a good punch. Tells more than the word count. Yes, bravo.
This is one of those subjects that I can’t even wrap my mind around, children forced to fight and kill? Doesn’t even seem in the realm of human possibility. But, you’ve painted a stark, clear picture of it here in such a short space. Thanks for the broken heart.
Wow. Just Wow. Punched me in the gut. Loved the names. Loved the description of his reaction to killing the first soldier. So real, horrifying and powerful. You really nailed this story Jon.
Bravo.
Karen :0)
I know this was hard to read. For that I am sorry. It was also hard to write, but has been eating at me for a while. The practice of using child soldiers is all too prevalent, and one I hope we can put an end to in the not too distant future. Dreaming? Probably. But I can hope.
~jon
OH DON’T BE SORRY Jon. Things like this NEED to be written. I think it’s the best thing of yours that I’ve read.
It was amazing.
I second Chris’s comment on the applause. I am nearly in tears Jon. It was already heartwrenching, but that last line, wow, just wow.
Excellent story. What a powerful subject to choose to write about. You did a great job with it.
You often pick great, soul-searching topics to write about. I continue to be amazed how you nail the emotions. Great story.
Oh, this one was hard to read but only because it’s all too true and all too horrifying! You’ve told an incredibly story in so few words, very tight and clean. Thanks for sharing it.
Wow. What a powerful story. I love how it builds suspense on two levels–the physical (will he be found, captured, maimed?) and the soul/moral (will he have to kill in order to protect himself?). (The latter lasts for a short time, but, built on the heels of the other, heightens the suspense and ups the stakes.) The revelation of his age and his 10 year-old thought in the end makes it tragic. Enjoyed reading this.
Ten, one hundred, or a thousand, when will it end?
This was like a half-pound of plastique, molded into a small ball. Great read, Jon.
Great job Jon. Kids are people too, and people are capable of the unthinkable, but in this instance, it seemed that he is protecting himself also.
Wow. Very powerful. As I read along, I had a feeling they were young, but I was not sure how young until the end.
Makes me shudder thinking of the kids in the Congo and Rwanda and closer to home in Sri Lanka. The armless reminder was especially chiling. Great writing Jon. Kinda makes my goofy effort feel a bit lame!
Wow. Ten years old. Great story, Jon. Kids all over picking up guns, even here in Baltimore. Their cause? the bloods and crips and all the other gangs. Peace, Linda
Well done sir, very evocative.
Horrifying! Which is to say, well done.
Loved the descriptions in this, felt really in with the story and what an ending!
I hope Huturo makes it.
Great story.
It definitely is hard to read… but it’s very nice in it’s own way!
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Captures the child soldier tragedy in so few words. Wow.