Inspired by and written for #Writephoto – thank you, KL.
With Kip raring to go, I, as the mere writer of his story, will let him speak. Kip’s early life was a dark one and as a boy, he saw too many things a kid shouldn’t Kip touched on witnessing the destruction and carnage of a religious building when he was 8 years old. So here we go
Form: Flash Fiction
I don’t believe in god, I just don’t see how there can be a god.
I was eight years old when the matrons of our institution marched us to a building on the edge of the township. We were made to stand in a group on the gravel driveway. The head matron stood in front of us. A big muscular woman who would sooner slap you than offer a kind word. Today was no different.
Her bitter voice echoed over us. ‘Look here, you lot, there will be no snivelling or you will get a good slapping. Today you are going to see what happens when the laws of our kind and generous government get violated. Anti-social and rebellious activities will not be tolerated.’
Her hard eyes seemed to be piercing me as she said that last bit.
‘There is nothing above the power of our esteemed and kind leaders. Nothing. The things you will see today must remind you that any worship should be to our government and not any other power. Our government takes care of us. Our gratitude and honour should be to them. Stand still and observe.’
She moved to one side of our group shoving us all as she passed. I stared at the huge building not really knowing what it was for. The front entrance door opened and we could hear crying and screaming, ‘God have mercy, god save us.’ Whoever this god was it didn’t look like he was helping much from where I stood. The elite soldiers were standing waiting in front of the house all with guns. No, it didn’t look good to me at all.
They dragged a man in a black robe out of the house, he was followed by several men and women in dark clothing. The man in black shouted, ‘Brothers and sisters, be strong in faith, god will save us’
No god saved them. One by one they were made to kneel as an elite soldier stood behind them and fired straight into the back of their heads. We just kept watching. I wanted to cry but knew I couldn’t so clenched my fists tight. I had more than enough slappings from that brute of a woman.
After we were made to go and look at the massacred bodies, the bloody mess of human remains will haunt me forever. The brute of a matron grabbed me by the hair. ‘You look good, brat, this is how you will end up.’ I still refused to cry.
A few days later the township was again in uproar. The lovely old building was surrounded by demolition equipment. It was replaced by an ugly institutionalized building to house rebels who refused to kowtow to the regime. Execution was a daily occurrence. Even then I know I had to get away because, for once, matron was right.