Fighter Planes.

It is a lovely summer afternoon and Samara is laying in her clover garden. She is blankly staring at the blue sky canvass when suddenly she notices a long white line, looking some what like  a meteor strike and fizzle out with a mild blast.

“Oh, that was something”; she says to her herself but goes back to her daydreaming. 

Seconds later, she hears a louder noiseapproaching. They are planes but not something you would travel in.

One after the other they start flying above her head.

They look like spaceships and they look weird. She has a gut feeling something isn’t right.

Samara rushes inside and switches on the TV. The news channel says that thousands of fighter planes have been released by an anonymous group and coming to kill people in their country.

War has begun and we need to leave the country Samara. Right now.

They have shot mothers and their unborn children.

They have not spared anybody.

There was a huge bomb blast just two meters outside our house.

They are here and there is no way out.

I am hiding under my bed.

Boots ruthlessly march in.

They load bullets and fire off a few test shots

They blow up the entire living room

Everybody is dead with that and they scan the room and leave

I peak from the window- they just shot a man. 

Blood is pouring off his chest.

I wonder, what would a bullet piercing me feel like?

I cannot imagine.

Can you?

Buildings collapse like a house of cards.

The feeling grew worse during the night.

The whole earth feels like it’s rapidly shaking

As if I were a robot, programmed to behave this way.

Duck. Cover. Hold. 

Sleepless nights followed.

I cried myself to sleep.

We are all bruised.

In one way or the other.

Samara whispers, I want things to be normal again. But then again, what is normalcy.