Run

Run

By Ashley C. Goff

A non-fiction short story

                Twenty people sat on their knees, hands bound to their feet behind them. Soldiers reigned over them, keeping the prisoners in their rifle sights while simultaneously discussing among themselves in their quick and sharp native tongue.  I was among the bound.

We sat in a line. Not a very neat line, but a line nonetheless. We had been there for some time and I could no longer feel my feet or hands. Keeping my head carefully bowed so as to avoid unwanted punishment, I managed to examine our captors with quick stealthy glances. Though dressed in matching green military uniform, the state of their clothing was deplorable. It betrayed their rebel status. Rebels; fighting against an indifferent government and all who tried to bring aid to this faltering country. Such as our team; a mission team sent to bring medical aid and the Gospel to a village in the mountains. Unfortunately, this village had been under surveillance by this guerilla pack and when they caught wind of our underground operation, we had immediately become a target on their radar.

It was hot, very hot; over a hundred degrees with equally cruel humidity. The jungle pressed in around the small wooden lean-two in which we were being held; suffocating it. The color of the immediate foliage was of a most brilliant green, but peering into the distant depths of the jungle, the green became a foreboding black, scarcely green at all.

                The lean-two did in fact look as though it had been halfway suffocated. Even though the beams themselves were of a hard, reliable wood, there was not much to be said for the rest of it. Haphazard bits of plywood and tin roofing metal had been used to fix patches in the walls and roof but these patches were so numerous that one could scarcely tell of which material the original walls had been. Mending in the roof had primarily been done with burlap sacks which had likely contained coffee beans. It had probably been an old storage post for the shipments of coffee, awaiting the next stage of their journey which would take them in trucks down the nearby road and to the factories where they would be roasted; but it was difficult to tell.

                Without warning, the ape-like chatter from the soldiers stopped and a large deal of shouting began. Our captors, who were doubling as our judge and jury, had reached a verdict and had sprung to life. One in particular began screaming our sentence at us, but I could not understand his words. The translator who had been traveling with us certainly did though, for he sank forward, back bowed, and began to weep and pray aloud in a voice that strained, cracked and faltered like chipping paint. This enraged our captors and they roughly yanked him back to an upright sitting position. But he went limp and tipped over onto his side as though the bones had vanished from his body. The din reached a feverish pitch, and then,

Bang! –

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                The report of the rifle stopped everyone’s heart and filled our ears with the silence, hollowing out our heads. As the echo of the shot ran away - doing what all others could not and escaping into the dark jungle - everyone stared at the corpse that had just a second ago been a living, breathing, crying man.

“Run! Run! Run! Run!” The echo screamed as it ran deeper and deeper into the jungle.

Shot in the forehead, the force of the shot had arched his back in the opposite direction he had previously slouched, and toppled him backwards over and off his feet which he had been sitting on. His body, lifeless and distorted because he was still bound, tipped over and then ceased to move, lying on his side while his vacant eyes stared fearfully at us, no longer controlled by him but of a different force altogether, a deadly force. That was when we realized we were to be joining him very shortly. Most were too numb and shocked to shed tears and it wasn’t until the second and third rifle reports had occurred that I even understood.

Bang! --

 Bang! --

Bang! --

The succession of the three shots passed too quickly and before I knew it they were standing above me; next in line. I did not want to look at them. To say that I was not frightened would have been a lie. Certainly I was grounded enough in my faith to know that I would see the face of my Beloved in a very short time, however, under immediate threat, survival instinct involuntarily took over. My heart began to pound, hammering the inside of my chest as though trying to escape through the flesh. I became possessed, one thought, one thought only. One thought slowly pushed the others from my mind. Very, very slowly through no will of my own, I raised my eyes and met theirs, peering down at me through the black barrel of the rifle:

“Father, forgive them…?”

“Run! Run! Run! Run!”

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                The bullet ripped through my chest, seemingly in slow motion. I felt it part my flesh though my brain could not yet comprehend the pain, and I felt my body distort from the impact; I began to fall. As my back hit the hard floor, my eyes flashed open…

 

                It was at that instant when my eyes flashed open and I awoke in my college dorm, my heart skipping beats and my body drenched in sweat. Disoriented by my surroundings, I sat up and cast a quick look to the opposite side of the room to make sure I had not woken my roommate by my sudden motion. Finding her slumbering peacefully and altogether unaware of my horror; with tremendous will I twisted by body around and sat dangling my legs freely over the side of the bed, attempting to catch my breath, which came with effort. The clock read three in the morning. Slowly, both my body and mind began to realize that I had not been ripped open by a bullet and was not, in fact, dying. But as the sweat vaporized and my heart returned to its normal tempo, a chill began to creep up my spine and radiate through the rest of me. This nightmare was unlike most others, after waking and even in retrospect, the horror remained undiminished.

My face sunk into my hands and I wept.