Short Stories

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BOOM! People running and screaming everywhere, explosions continued to detonate and fill the air with shockwaves of sound. Mass chaos had come to stay. As people ran in every direction and tried to shield themselves as they ran, a boy watched the madness from the third story window of an old and decrepit apartment building. The boy shifted and felt warm liquid covering his feet and trickling down his legs. He had pissed his pants from fright and had not even noticed. The screams of pain and shouts of “guerreros!” did not cease. They simply continued until…
BOOM! Another explosion and this time it was closer...it was the building next to his and his small frame shook with racking sobs as he got up from the floor. He knew he had to leave or his building would be next. Yes, there was no choice he must get out and he must do it quickly. The boy raced down the creaking stairs without hesitation, his small dirty feet skipping the missing steps with skill and expertise as if he had done it a thousand times before.
He stopped and entered another room on the second floor. He went to the right corner of this rectangular room and carefully inserted his small hands in a jagged hole in the floorboards. He pulled and the floorboard lifted up. Under this old floorboard was a small compartment of sorts with a ragged bundle in it. He took out the bundle and unwrapped it. It was a small but beautifully and precisely hewn cross, made out of wood, and hung on a string. It was all he had left of his family. It was also the most precious thing he owned and the only thing he could not leave behind in the building. It had belonged to his father who had died from an infection on his wounded arm. His mother had given it to him to keep and take care of, just before her death. Jesus was all he had now, his only family. BOOM! The building shook and swayed a bit reminding him of just how little time he had. He put the cross on his neck, threw the bundle down, and flew out of the room and back down the stairs. BOOM! More screams and the horrible smell of burnt flesh. This recent detonation caused the building to rumble in protest and the small boy lost his footing and nearly fell over the side of the railing but regained his balance and continued his dissent as the building crumbled around him.
He reached the first floor and ran out the front door and behind the nearest car he could find. The air was thick with bullets and he could see no way out. Therefore, he did what he always did when he was ready to give up and cry. This small seven-year-old child prayed. Little did he know that he was most definitely heard. He gritted his teeth and sprinted as hard as he could into a deserted ally and not a bullet touched him. BOOM! Again…another explosion except he knew which building it was, he said his mental goodbye to the run-down pit of a building that had been his home. Perhaps the scariest part is that this child did all this with nary a tear. He was far too scared to cry. It was one of the few times that he was glad he had that gnawing hunger in his stomach because he knew that if he had eaten anything he would have thrown it back up. He turned away from the gruesome site of this main street full of bodies and rubble in this ravaged Colombian town. There were no screams now, most of the people were either dead or had gotten away into the free part of town where they could hide or just keep running. He too had to make it to that part if he was to survive.
There was a click behind him and he whirled around to find a man with a shiny handgun and a feral smile looking at him. The man made to shoot but what looked like a huge man got in the way, pushed the guerrilla fighter, and took his gun. The guerilla fighter ran away but the large man was no where to be found. The boy fingered the cross around his neck and looked in wonder. The boy got up and ran, he simply continued running through the maze of alleys and streets that he knew so well. He stuck to the shadows and prayed as he ran, if he had to use the main streets he would run from cover to cover. Slowly the sound of explosions and gunfire faded away as he reached the unoccupied zones of the city. In these zones, people were struggling to get out and resistance fighters armed themselves as they prepared to continue the fight for their city.
The boy was suspicious though, he was no stranger to the cruelty of men and had been run out and hunted before because he was a mendigo joven or a young beggar. He yearned for safety and rest but where would he find it? He could only stay hidden for so long though because eventually the people spotted him. In fact, it was a young woman who spotted him. A tender sweet-looking lady who pointed him out to her husband. He was scared again but he was tired of running and these people did not look hostile. Therefore, he stepped forward from the shadows just as the woman, her husband, and a group of concerned people came to look at him. He was incredibly tired. He wanted to lay down somewhere and sleep. He began to cry once more as the shock of all that had happened to him started to wear off. The woman ran up to him and scooped him up in her arms just as he passed out. The last words he heard were: “God must love him! Its incredible that he is still alive in this state!”. He smiled a mental smile, Jesus was all he had now, his only family. Then all was black.

© 2007 Luis Gabriel

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