AFRICA:2008
(Kilimanjaro mountain)
In a small forest, the sound of gunshots echoed.
A child hidden behind a tree shouted, "Are you trying to kill me?"
From atop a tree, a raspy voice replied, "sheep."
Suddenly, a man dropped down, knife in hand, aiming to stab the child.
The kid swiftly moved back to avoid the blade.
"Alright, old man, let's play!"
With determination, the child pulled out a knife and lunged at the man.
"Ahhh!"
The man caught the child's wrist with his right hand and flipped him to the ground.
Raising his left hand, where the knife was, he plunged the knife into the Kid's shoulder.
The Kid screamed, "AHHHHHHHHH!" as the man twisted the knife in the wound.
"Tell me, what are you?"
"Ahh, a wolf! I'm a wolf!" the child exclaimed.
"Now get up, don't pull the knife. Here, put alcohol on the wound."
The boy grabbed the bottle and poured the liquid onto his wound.
"And wrap a piece of cloth around it," said the man.
"Let's go."
Together, the boy and the man climbed to the top of the mountain, where a small shack awaited them.
They stepped inside. "Sit down," the man instructed.
The man took a seat in front of the fire, reached into the flames, and pulled out a hot iron rod.
"Show me the wound, kid," he said.
The Kid removed the cloth covering his injury.
The man stepped closer, iron in one hand and a gun in the other.
"Make a sound, and you die."
The twelve-year-old was frozen in shock.
"You can't kill me," he stammered.
"Bang!" A bullet whizzed past his ear.
"Okay, I understand," the boy replied quickly.
"Alright," the man said, crouching low and aiming the gun at the boy's head.
"Scream, and you die."
"Remove the knife," the man commanded.
Slowly, he pressed the iron rod against the wound, The boy felt excruciating pain, but he held back his cries.
This old man is terrifying, the boy thought, He would kill me. Bite your tongue; don't let him hear you scream.
"The job is done," the man declared, a smirk spreading across his face.
He stood up, settled into a chair by the fireplace, and draped a blanket over his lap.
"What a chilly weather! If you didn't see it, you wouldn't believe this is Africa," the old man sneezed.
"Bless you," the boy said.
Blessing, the man thought.
"Mister, Sines today is my twelfth birthday.
Can you tell me my name and who you are? Last year, you said you aren't my dad, so who are you, and who are my parents?"
"I'll answer one question," the man replied.
"Who are you?" the boy asked, his expression serious.
"I killed your parents."
"No, you didn't. You're joking."
"Joking?" the man grinned. "Since when have you seen me joke?"
The boy's face went pale.
All the pain he felt today was insignificant compared to that revelation. Yet, he felt neither anger nor sadness.
He had never known his parents; the only face he recognized was that of the man who had taken them from him. Betrayal washed over him.
The boy stood up and walked toward the bedroom.
"Good night," the man said.
"Thank you for treating the wound," the kid said.
"Ha! You're thanking me? I stabbed you. The least I can do is patch you up."
The kid turned away from the man and walked toward the bedroom.
It was then that the old man pulled a gun from beneath the blanket, aiming it at the kid's back, and murmured under his breath, "Bang."
The kid closed the bedroom door.
The man muttered to himself, "Good night, sheep."
As the kid laid his head on the pillow, thoughts raced through his mind: What should I do now? Is he my captor, my protector, or my executioner?.
Who am I, and why did he take my parents from me? I need answers,
I realize he won't give them to me, so I must become stronger to uncover the truth.