Chapter One
Martyrdom
The suffering of death because of one's religious faith. Martyrdom is a word that is not used very often. Many people do not know the meaning of this word, or how it may be pronounced. Death is an awful thing to go through with, feelings of grief and pain would be mixed together in a lump of anguish. That pain stuck in my heart as I watched my father sink down into the hole in the ground, his body wrapped up thickly using ripped cloth. He wasn’t important to the men who were burying him, just more hard work for them. The war was a tough time, deaths every five minutes. Someone who was loved, had a family was killed, his soul free from his lifeless body. But why was this war going on? Of course they were fighting, but what for? The chance to be free from the bullies of the Americans, their rule over us was the reason we were fighting. The losses for us were far greater than the losses for the controllable Americans. As my father’s wrapped body was covered in mud, tears fell down my unclean cheeks.
“He is gone now, to a better place,” Whispered a voice in my ear, his voice soft and unfamiliar.
I turn round and stare at the man, his dark tanned skin and his dark brown hair made a pain in my heart, his looks so familiar to my fathers it was unbearable. The burying was getting busy. They normally were at this time of day, lunchtime. People everywhere who I had never met, crying as their husband and wives, children and grandparents were buried desperately, trying to get ready for the next lot of putrid corpses to arrive. I walked away, holding my father’s army clothes in my left hand. It was also very hot at this time of day, the sun’s rays glaring, the sweat beads falling down my body, making me dehydrate. Though the men kept on working, no feelings for the people who had died for us. Trying to save our country and let our hopes and wishes come true, to get away from the killers.
I walked down the dusty road, leading out of the land of corpses, large vans parked up near by, carrying more bodies from which had died. In five minutes I had arrived at my house. By the door was a bunch of daisies, I picked them up smelling them, more tears streamed down my face. A young girl appeared before me, her head down.
“I’m sorry for his death, miss. I picked these my self to say how sorry I is,” She whispered.
I nodded and gave a small weak smile. She knew my father pretty well, before he went into the war. He worked as a doll maker, making the most magnificent dolls ever made by human alone. Each and every bit of the dolls were made by him, all with different and even better designs than the first. I turned my back to the little girl and closed the door behind me, locking it up. This was only the beginning to my story of missing souls, which has vanished out of site maybe never to be heard of again. However, religion wasn’t just the reason why we had to go to war, nor was this overruling. Everyone knew there was other deep secrets, which would fit the missing bit of the puzzle, like two missing bricks of a house that would help the house become whole. I went into my small kitchen, the walls covered in dampness, long yellow streaks falling downwards on the sunflower wallpaper. I put down my father’s uniform and opened the lever on my window and pushed on it, the window creaked and opened suddenly. I went into one of the cupboards and took out a vase to put the daisies in.
Poverty was strong in these areas, no home for those to sleep in, no warm food entering their dry, dehydrated mouths. Those who did have homes were living in dampness and unhygienic buildings, which were meant to be ‘homes’, but it was like a small place to die. Rats from the gutters close by would infest your houses, a place where you would wish you were living on the streets.
I filled the vase with water and placed the daises into it. Staring at their pale gray petals, my head filled with memories of my family and me before they perished in the war. A glimpse of a face was seen through my window, I took a step back, my hand still grasped onto the vase. His hand rose showing the sign of peace. I saw his dark brown hair blowing slightly in the blistering wind. It was the man who had whispered to me. I quickly closed my window and shut my grimy, yellow curtains, I screamed for him to go away and to leave me alone then ran into my living room and sat on the sofa, covering my eyes.
“I don’t wish to hurt you, but m’lady, you forgot something,” He shouted from the kitchen window.
Still holding onto the vase, I went back into the kitchen and opened the back door with one jolt of energy. In the man’s hands was one of the dolls my father had made.
“It was on the ground where you were, thought it might be yours.” He said, his voice so soft and relaxing.
I nodded and took it, about to close the door before he grabbed onto it pulling it open, making my hands let go, my vase fell to the ground, crashing hard, the glass going everywhere.
The man turned his head in shame and left without another word. More tears fell down my cheeks like a dripping tap. I only hoped nothing else would happen to me, while I was picking up the broken glass I saw that he had dropped the doll, I picked it up, hugging it tightly.
The next couple of days rain fell silently, the outside world becoming no more than a blur from the dusty windows. My whole life practically became a blur from that day on. Surprisingly the man came back to visit again. This time he had something special for me, his hair was brushed neatly, away from his black eyes, his face clean from dirt.
“I am sorry for breaking your vase…” He said, “So I got you a new one”
He held out the new vase, hoping dearly that I would take it. A small smile appeared on my face and I gracefully took it away from him. He let out a small sigh of relief and started to walk off.
“What is your name?” I asked to him,
He turned around and bowed at me,
“James” He smiled,
He then disappeared out of my garden and out of my eyes. A feeling came into me, a feeling I had never had before, butterflies flew out my stomach, there was a light in my dull, worthless life at last. However, I couldn’t quite understand what it was. James reminded me of my father, the way he smiled, his white teeth shining in the dazzling light. The way his hair was cut and placed and the colour of his skin, a muddy, chocolate colour. They looked so alike to one another. Only gentlemen said sorry and returned what he had broken, fixed or newly made. There was not many gentlemen here. Sometimes I would think there is none at all, just trying to play with me, see if they can get me in bed, make me fall in love with them and give them a proper home, which they could obliterate with their dirty hands, and filthy habits. I grabbed my umbrella and set off to find some flowers to fill up my new vase. Large radio speakers echoed the latest news of life and sang out the latest songs, as I passed them to the small flower shop. These new bulky radios were on top of large polls, they could also be used as a siren, to warn us of attacks from planes. They were quite new to this place, though many had the new latest ones, which were smaller and had much better radios and more interesting music.
“Welcome to radio ‘us’, it’s the twelfth of November, two thousand and…” The radio cut off and gave out an eerie noise, which filled up the streets. People ran into the closest buildings, covering them selves, trying to be safe. American planes overhead started to drop large dangerous bombs, destroying the parts of the town, they soon quickly headed off, leaving us in distort. A crying mother held onto her small son,
“God is with us, don’t worry” She whispered to him.
He nodded and cried a little, their sorrows draining out the sirens.
Yeah, hmmm... I know, this is just the first one. constructive critz would be nice
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