Downstairs, after I switched off the oven and opened a few windows the burning smell ceased. I nervously gulped a mug of hot water and milk with a hint of tea, unable to figure out why I was so anxious about where everyone was, that was until out of the blue a sound that was so powerful almost burst my eardrums rebelled its way through the fifty year old household as I thought it would eradicate this dwelling to rubble. The sound lasted only a few seconds then stopped, I squinted to make out a faint bellow not to far away from the house, the voice had a hint of an eastern Europe accent which added to the concern of this mornings behaviour. This quickened my reactions and as quick as a mouse I scuttled out of the house then without even thinking about it, I came to an abrupt halt.
Opposite my temporary habitat was a whole platoon of soldiers sporting plain green fatigues, and assault rifles. My instinct led me to immediately spin inside the framework of the front door. By this time my brain was churning to discover a resolution to this event. There were easily thirty or more troops, fortunately with their backs to me. They certainly weren’t British soldiers as there uniforms would suggest and they had, by the looks of things taken over Springfield, why would they take over this small English town of only a few thousand people, they may have taken over the whole of Birmingham maybe even London. Due to my short-term migration to the small town I had only a small amount of knowledge of the area and its culture. These big main roads and huge buildings were unfamiliar to an Irish countryman. I grabbed the nearest phone and began to dial 999, until the ear crushing sound returned, then I saw that a tank shrouded in the black, white and red striped flag of Iraq came around the bend by the corner shop as it bullied its way through the warded off area which was probably an early feeble attempt by the police to withstand the guerrillas.
Several shops and stalls had been bundled over by the tank as it over powered the concrete structures. It was then that I realized that my family had been kidnapped and kept as prisoners or maybe even killed. I wiped away the tear that had trickled down my face then rushed upstairs to try and figure out what I should do. I clambered back into the gloomy cave and reflected on the circumstances, how? And why? Were the questions that popped up in my fizzing brain? How did they get here unnoticed? And why did they attack and successfully overpower our defences? These questions remained unanswered as I crept back and forth making sure not to be heard, several solutions came to mind, gathering essential items such as food, water, first aid and camping out in this dungeon until the intruders had disappeared. I spent all day repeating the same actions, eating, sleeping (dozing off), crying and spying on the guerrillas. I felt dejected and helpless, trying to make out what they language they were using. Every now and then a soldier would spin around and throw a spiteful look at this house as if he was curious or somewhat mystified by it. Maybe he heard the cans of beans clanging together? Or maybe when I spilt the sugar? Or when I…!
I hushed my self before I broke down in to fits of frustration, wanting to scream but couldn’t, wanted to get hold of a knife and slice one to pieces but I couldn’t it was all just a big mess in unknown territory for me and I couldn’t think straight. The attic became rather blurry and my eyelids came together and wouldn’t be awoken until the shout came a few hours later.
