I didn’t hesitate to just get in the crate, then Ivan slammed the top of the wooden crate with many nails, most of them almost impaling my head, with barely any hair to protect me from the nails. I was already sweating, the air was thick and I had two holes for both looking and breathing. Lifted into the truck with what looked to be seven other crates, the rusty and crackling sound of the backdoor of the truck closing left all the crates in total darkness. The revs of the engine blared into my head ripping apart like a wild beast attacking its prey. Finally, we were moving at what seemed to be a steady speed.
From here, recounting the moments in the truck is almost impossible to do. Left in pitch black darkness, two air holes and our thoughts, I just sat here and laughed at old jokes that my brothers made, then I remembered Roman. I wouldn’t be in this truck if it wasn’t for some advice from Roman: “Success is never achieved without effort.” His last words to me if I recall, before the attacks on our village. Those attacks killed off many families, separated loved ones, and took away my only family. In the basement, that’s where Roman told me to hide. “Stay there, and don’t move, no matter what. No matter what happens.” I remember it so clearly now. They shot my grandmother first. Strong in spirit, she died fighting, standing her ground, unlike my mother.
They dragged her to the basement; she was kicking and screaming like an infant. My eyes widened to peer though the gaps of the pile of discarded wood that I hid in. Two men kept saying, “Do it, take my offer or die!” I knew not of the offer, until she started taking her rags off. Sobbing. Sobbing and jeering is all I heard through the sinful act. I sobbed. She made the biggest sacrificial act that a son could know of. After they had done, one of the soldiers said “She did do what we wanted, her reward should be life”. The other, a more muscular and colder soldier just picked up his pistol. Not one shot. Not two shots. Three shots. Pistol-fire was launched three times to humiliate my mother beyond any other person’s wild nightmares.
Of course, I cried. I did what any nine-year old would do. The soldiers were given commands to leave, and forget all other people while exiting the village. The sound of the fading footsteps told me I could see what didn’t want to. Sliding the wooden poles above my head, I raced to see the body. I hugged her, regardless of the blood that flooded the walls and floors. Running to the surface, I was surrounded by crimson liquid, walls painted with blood. And now, now, the carpet was made of my entire family. Lucas, Alexis, and Roman. Father in the corner. Grandmother filled with glinting bullets.
That’s how my family came to die, all in one day. One moment dominates my mind, with a dark rule that is cold like ice. Just as cold was the crate that shook so vigorously. The truck was slowing down, the engine growling with less ferocity. Then, like a wildcat, it screeched a battle cry that pierced my ears. I heard planes swoop in and out the sky; the massive roar encompassed the sky and earth. Then, for the first time this journey, I was approached by another like me. “Here, take this my friend”, the husky man said. He outstretched his arm, his gigantic arm holding a thick coat. It looked very soft and loving. I grabbed it with the innocence of a child.
“I’m sorry, I am very thankful for your kind gift. What is your name?” I asked.
“Marko. And you’re welcome.” he replied. A man of his size had a remarkably high pitched voice. He sounded like an opera singer. I would point this out to him, but given his stature, I said nothing that may end up with me incapacitated and unable to go to England.
“Move it! NOW”, hissed Ivan. “Security is coming, get in the crates NOW!”
I didn’t hesitate to move with extreme haste. This can be said for the others too. Ivan too, moved with haste to close the lids of the crates.
Ivan coughed; the cigarette smoke didn’t mix well with the fear that overwhelmed him. “Yes o...o...fficers. How may I be of help to you?”
With a very strong English accent, the leading officer said, “We’ve had reports of some suspicious sounds emitting from your crates over there sir?” The policeman raised his eyebrow as to say, “You’re hiding something and you can’t get away with it, mate.”
Before Ivan could splutter any more words, the policemen shoved him away, politely, and lifted the crate, never minding the nails that held them down. I heard the splinters shatter and scatter around, the breaking of the wood made crunching sounds.
“Well, well, well. Looks like we got some genuine foreign visitors who forgot their passports…and their luggage”, said the burly officer.
It felt very pointless to keep hiding in the crate, but I stayed there, like a helpless child in a corner. The situation felt similar to when my mother was killed, but as I watched the situation unfold through the holes of my crate, I pushed these memories to the furthest corners of my mind.
“Wait Jim, isn’t he Ivan Protakoff, the tyrant of Western Russia?” said the other more skinny, more scrawny policeman, who opened a little handbook. I saw quick glimpses of pictures and pieces of text.
“Here he is, Ivan Protakoff, the tyrant tried to take control of Western Russia. He’s also described here as the man responsible for the mass murders in Herbansofia and –“
“YOU SCUM!!” I exploded out of the crate with all the anger I could muster. I leaped like a gazelle, and attacked like a wild tiger. My fist made a firm connection with Ivan’s face. I roared with pain, as I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and repeatedly whacked him across the face. With each hit I made, images of my family flashed before me.
Do you think that this piece of intervention made me angrier or sadder?
I ceased my assault, with my knuckles doused in his blood. Both the burly and the skinny officers dragged me away from Ivan. What they saw was a confused boy, tears of anger, and still blood. “I will have my VENGANCE! For the people of Herbansofia, I WILL have my VENGANCE!”
BANG!
Stung with searing heat. Stung by a bullet. Damn, I must say, it’s a lot less painful than it sounds. They say your whole life flashes before your eyes when you are about to die.
They lied.
I can however say that you die with your most defining moment to relive. Going back one minute, finally “killing” the person responsible for my misery, my nightmares, and my total loneliness for fourteen years.
