Excerpts from the Outcry

 

1

It was dark, and the distant landscape was hidden in the dark physical stillness of the early morning. The darkness of the woods got broken into bits with ‘dots of light’; fires borne on tips of wood floated through the woods and the stillness and silence broken by noise. A mob was making its way to the very edge of the cliff where the wood ended. At its very center was a man in his early thirties; bleeding and bruised, with a plea upon his lips, barely heard above the anger of the mob. The mob arrived at the edge of the cliff and without hesitation, dragged this man to the edge and threw him off it. Without waiting to see the end of it they dispersed, their lust satisfied. As the crowd dispersed, a young woman sat at its edge ignored. Her face pale, her breathing labored. The tears still flowed as she sat helpless on the ground. Her pleas for mercy had gone unheard; no one had paid attention to her and the tears kept falling. In the distance the dawn was beginning to break…

The day had begun like every other day. Yet Kate was wondering why this one was dull and looked as though it would rain. The office where she sat looked deserted save for the stacks of files and papers on her desk. Blowing her mouth, she wondered when her boss would be coming in that morning. There was quite a lot to do that morning; the trimming of flowers in the garden constructed at the back of the office housing the varieties of flowers that were sold every day for various purposes; the cutting of cards meant for writing notes that accompanied the flowers and finally the editing and listing of orders received from interested buyers. She had been a case close to ruin when she met Mr. Johnson who led her to Christ, helping her to understand the gift God had given to her in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. She shook her head as though she was in a trance, she was never tired of remembering the good news that had been the source of men’s salvation, but lest a buyer come in and find her moping at nothing, she had better get to work at once. Some ten minutes later, the honk of a car horn announced the arrival of her boss.

Alex stood outside the tent made from some sort of leather that housed him and his wife at the edge of the Sahara desert, and took in the entire scenery. The huge sea of sand baffled him and he wondered how people eventually crossed it. But he had a burden, he had an assignment and despite the tight schedule of his job; that had to wait until this task was completed. It was not going to be easy but he had to do it. It had been given to him as a burden that raged like fie in his bones, like lead in his heart and took away all peace until he embarked on the journey that now placed him where he was. It was like thirst, it couldn’t be quenched until he took the step he had taken two weeks ago. He started at the movements within the tent. His wife must have woken up. She had not bothered about what it was going to cost her, she had opted to go with him, and he had been most grateful for that decision. Tomorrow he was going to make enquiries as to how to get to the next desert Oasis, and how long it would take, lest he took less than what would sustain them. The wind blew a bit, blowing some of the dust into his mouth. Spitting it out, he turned and went into the tent, half wondering how exciting the adventure was going to be.

Harry woke up from his sleep, his bed clothes were filled with sweat, and so was he. He was panting and looked as though he had been in some combat. He looked around; the room was empty, save him. He kept panting, his throat was dry, his eyes were swollen, but above all and worst; the memory of what had happened had refused to leave him; he could not forget. He had left it all behind but the memories haunted him, for some inexplicable reason. He wished he could turn back the hands of time, and be given the opportunity to do all that he had realized he was supposed to do. But it seemed it was too late. The memories came again vividly; the jungles and the marshes, the unforgettable stings of mosquitoes at night and the never tiring nature of flies during the day; the commands and instructions on what to do at a particular time; the armored tankers of the local forces, that accompanied them through the open lands until they came to the villages. It all came back; as though it were a movie. He held his head, as though holding it would make it go away. He had been in touch with one or two of his colleagues, why were they not complaining as he did, why didn’t they mention that they were thinking of going to see a doctor, as a result of depression or some other form of despair, why didn’t they ever mention that life was beginning to taste like ashes in their mouths as it had become in his? He sat up and walked to the window, leaning against the panes, he closed his eyes, as the tears slowly rolled down his face...

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