Three Minute Stories #2 - The Sunken Sun

vishnucr92 (40)in #life • 7 years ago (edited)

The sun had come out of its reverie. The rays shone bright and fine on the little place of Sierra Leone. Tsolobo and his friends had woken up early that day and were getting ready for the football match. The place they played looked remotely like a ground but whatever…who cared? All they needed to play were pairs of legs and a football. Never mind the electric fence swivelling in and out dangerously or the barracks nearby with men on patrol a mile away.

Tsolobo came running in with the football with a bright grin on his face which shadowed the state in which he was. A tall and curly haired lad of eight he was, with no love in his life other than that patched up yellow football. He was an urchin, scourging of the streets and living amongst the drains. He had known and felt them all; joy, pain and suffering. Joy when he had his parents and pain when they were ripped away from him by the marketplace. He had been in his house when he heard the blast, but in the blood haze that followed, he couldn’t see an inch of them. He sat there weeping sooty tears when he first came face to face with his friends. They too were like him, brothers; not through blood but through war. But as people say, time heals everything and so was the case with Tsolobo. It was a bit difficult to live off the streets, eating the half decayed fruits and half eaten fish, but by time he came to appreciate anything that looked half edible. He and his friends hollowed up in an old rundown shack by the dead stump of a tree. Apart from the time they were searching for food, their favourite pastime was playing football. Now running towards their “space”, he felt a deep sense of excitement about the anticipated match that was to happen then.

There were nine of them. That meant five on one side and four on the other. Again, the same old one missing; Raphel. It had been four months since he had left them all with a stranger who had the familiar symbol of the local rebellion fighters branded on his right hand. They had done it all to keep Raphel with them. Pleaded, cried and even whimpered, but to no avail. Some kind of determination had set in the mind of little Raphel which was very difficult to erase. Right from the start, Raphel was the more sensitive kid, the one who was different from the rest. He too was a victim of war; his parents were killed in the counter attack by the government. He too had no one to call his own than his poor fellow urchins. Now whatever he might be good at, Raphel was adept at football. No one knew where he learnt his tricks; the dribble, the power shots or the curves. Where ever it might be, he was unbelievably good. Arguably the team which had Raphel usually won. He was an asset to the team when it came to football. They missed him very much, his footballing skills and of course his friendship.

As the nine of them were debating on team selection, Tsolobo saw a familiar looking figure walking briskly towards them. No one could mistake the lazy gait and built figure in front of them. “Raphel” shouted out the nine of them in a chorus. “Where have u been all this time?” one cried out, “Where did you get that deep gash on your forehead?” asked the other anxiously. For Tsolobo it meant one and only thing; football was going to be a lot more fun there on. “Welcome back my friend,” said he, “We were just starting our morning game, come and join!”. All the time Raphel hadn’t spoken a word. He kept hiding something behind him all the time.”What is it that you are hiding at your back?, Oh my God Raphel!! Is that a gun???”

"Sorry my guys”, said Raphel in a small voice as Tsolobo noticed the freshly branded symbol on his hand, “I am really sorry", he said, bringing the firearm to light, "these are orders”.

All was fine when suddenly a vulture came swooping down and settled heavily on the ground. It was hungry and queasy to get a hand of the fresh meat before it that some ten of its pack was tearing furiously. It scanned the area for left out carcasses. And there it was, an untouched one; lying a little away from the rest of them. Atleast I get a decent share now, the vulture thought. As it moved close to the meat circling viciously, the meat groaned. Apparently it hadn’t died yet. “Finish it off!!”, cried the vulture’s predatory brain. Obediently it aimed for the eye of the victim.

As Tsolobo slipped away to unconsciousness out of the cruciating pain inflicted on him as he felt his eye being ripped away from its socket, a greater pain throbbed in his punctured heart. That moment of horror went through his half dead brain again and again. That moment when Raphel, his football icon pointed at him and pulled the trigger. In the cold steely eyes of his friend, Tsolobo could swear; swear that he saw a look of deep remorse struggling to get out of the midst of those pitiless eyes that seemed to stare in front. And as his head hit the ground finally, all was peace.