Post by Mizagium on Mar 23, 2009 16:31:44 GMT -5
Prayer of the Refugee
“Come and sit, young man. You look cold.” A gentle voice called to me from the fireside. I was filthy and ragged; many days had it been since I bathed. Grateful, I sat next to the man who called me over; others who sat in a circle moved to make room for me. At once the cold was forgotten as the warmth of the fire enveloped me. I looked around at the others gathered by the fire; each was weary and worn. Some were old and some younger than I.
“How long you been out here?” The kind man asked.
“I don’t know sir, since I was little.” I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them.
“Where’s your family?” Another man several placed down asked. He was older than the firs man, middle aged. Looked older, though.
“Dead, sir.” Tears sprang to my eyes and I hastily wiped them away.
“Same here. Influenza wiped ‘em out years ago. My wife, my two children. Gone, just like that.” He snapped his fingers to emphasize his point. “Sad thing is,” I heard him say, “If I still had my job, I could have afforded some medicine for them, and they might still be with me.” He stared into the fire. “I hate this city.” He whispered.
I looked around me at the tall, lit buildings that reached up and closed us in. I thought of everyone inside, in the warmth, with food and water, and clothes, and I hated them as well. The people had cast us out, but the city made us stay.
“So how long have you been on your own?” Asked the kind an again, bringing me out of my hateful contemplation. I turned quick to face him. He looked down at me with genuine caring and pity.
“A few years, sir” I said.
“What happened?” a woman asked. Against the dark cityscape, I was initially unable to determine if there were women among those gathered around the fire.
“Shot.” I said quickly. “My parents were shot.” I was surprised at how plainly I was able to say it. It made me sad and guilty that I could speak so freely of their death.
“No siblings?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Poor thing.”
An open can of beans was passed around. When it came to me I turned to hand it to the man sitting to my left. He shook is head no. Puzzled I looked past him at the nest man. He also refused the can. So did the woman who had spoken earlier. I then turned to the kind man from before. “It’s for you,” He said as though it were obvious. Without further encouragement I greedily ate the beans with a spoon that was handed to me. Only later did I see the rust and dirt caked on the metal spoon.
“It’ll be morning soon.” One man observed. I looked east and saw a faint glow of the sun reach over the wall of the city. I could see more clearly the haggard faces of the fireside company. Each was just as filthy as me, some worse. All looked weary. But at the same time, all still held themselves with pride, no one looked like they were giving up. They were biding their time, I realized, but for what?
“You know I’m not from this city?” The kind man said without provocation. A few others looked at him with surprise; others simply nodded, having heard his story before. “I had a nice little house in the country. A farm. Nothing big: a few sheep, some chickens, and a cow. It was nice” He paused, looking wistfully out into the land beyond the city walls. “But I wanted to come to the city, to make money, to be rich. ‘I can do it,’ I told myself. ‘Others before me did. So can I!’” He looked around at those gathered, then at me, then back at the fire. “But I was wrong. The city will cheat you every chance it gets, and no one will help you. Ever.” Many more nodded now. I remained silent.
“But we don’t need them, do we?” He addressed the gathered group now. As he rose to his feet he said, “The city thinks it can beat us down, break us, well it can’t. I say ‘Look at me: I stand my ground! You won’t break me!’” Other rose, joining in his defiance. A fierce look crossed his face and spread to others. It was something I had never seen, but knew instinctively what it was: Defiance.
And I was frightened.
“The city made us what we are!” He declared loudly as more stood. “It made angry and desperate, hungry and cold! All our lives we were told to play fair, and the city punished us for it!” He raised a fist in the air; other joined him in a cheer. “But the city doesn’t know what we’ve been doing while they’ve been sleeping!” Another cheer. Distant sounds of breaking glass could be heard and the crowd cheered again.
I was very frightened now and I stood, but not in agreement. “What’s happening?” I demanded, fearful.
“We’re taking back the city,” The kind man said. More sounds of breaking glass accompanied by shrieks and the sound of burning wood. “We’re making them feel what we feel.” He was calm, but maddened. He looked into my eyes, willing me to agree with him.
“You can’t do this to them!” I shouted. I looked desperately to the other gathered people, but most of them had left to join the riots.
“Why not?” He declared. “Why can’t we make them fell what we have felt for years?” He looked at me furiously now. “Open your eyes child! The city doesn’t care what becomes of us! Why should we care about them? They took your family away.”
I saw that he was right; no one would ever care about me. No one but him. I let him lead me away.
“Let’s be on our way.” He led me down a street lined with the glass of broken windows and the ashes of burned buildings. “No longer will we remain silent!” He yelled out into the early morning. “Let them know of the lives they’ve stolen from us! And let them see us take them back!
“Stand your ground!”
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Thoughts?