It was a sunny mid-day with a normal summer weather with just few clouds racing the sky. “Silver pental bar & fishing shop” was around the corner of an old paved street that had its left side exiting on the river with numerous decks for heavy tankers that transported coal to Zaria. For me, this was a rainy day, a memory of the refugee crisis time that counted 20 years of pain.
When I recall of those times and of what I had to go through, I get overruned by sorrow. Many were dying back home, in Zaria, when I snuck away in a fishing boat and sailed to Gratna. Ildock rained rockets and their army entered our gates after 50 days of siege. I remember their pulse six-shooters and distorted turquoise threads lingering in the air as their angry soldiers and drones stormed the streets, burned the houses with live civilians in them. Cursed be the day they attacked us.
I took a seat next to the window and watched at the shivering hologram with the report of Zarain memorial day. Our Sultan walked out from his palace and laid a blood vessel at the bottom of the monument of a Zarian mother holding hers dead baby made in yellow stone. Weiter brought me some beer and I lit my cigarette when a happy shouts came from the table, 5 metres away from me. I turned to see what is going on and there were 10 Ildockian marines, celebrating the victory over Zaria. One of them looked at me.
– Da’ fuck are you looking at, goatfucker?! – he shouted and his friends turned to see my tanned skin.
I gave them no reason for a fight and got back to my drinking. If I was as brave as those 30 000 dead Zarian “Desert Wraights”, I would have their heads in a jiffy, or I would make them pay some respect for the dead, but I was a coward as I was 20 years ago.
A pale man walked in the bar. He had a long coat, dark shades and shiny shoes, which was way too much for this kind of a weather and place to ware them. “How is he not boiling under all that clothes?” – I wondered, but since he was Ildocian kind of a pale in face, I didn’t ask. He looked around, like he was searching for someone, then he smiled in broken lips and pulled out a six-shooter from his coat.
His torso pumped up with the reactive-modular bulletproof vest that covered the most of him, then the violent shots clogged the air. Fire spread over the tables where normal people flew away like rag dolls and spilled blood all over the floor. Swiftly he changed the magazine and fired a couple more shoots, killing those that were running toward the door. I heard glass shattering, liquid slowly dropping on the wooden floor, moans and cries of the half-dead sailors that crawled away from the shooter.
Man turned toward me and finally realised I was Zarian. He smiled again in broken lips and threw away his rifle. It looked happy, satisfied with the killing of twelve people, even his own kind. Sultan’s speech made him listen the hologram, so he just bent his head with the widest smile.
“This was an unfortunate event. Zarian people will never forget of what have happened here. We know Ildock lives from pillaging other cities and renting their armies to those that have money to pay, but it is our fault for not protecting our people. We will not forgive them our 40 000 buried brothers and sisters. Today it’s 20 years from the Ildockian war, and we are safe for another 40 years, because they have 20 years rotation in between the wars with the cities of Gratna, Konia and Zaria. I wish to say that whoever goes in war with the Ildock next, it will have our support in fighting them, and I would like to use this opportunity to ask my fellow Zarians not to participate in the violence and vengeance against Ildocian folk, because they’ll might provoke another war.” – Zarian Sultan spoke into the news drone, when the shooter turned again to see me.
– You heard him. No violence, but something needs to start a war, doesn’t it? – he said and pulled out a detonator which had wire hanging out, connected with his long coat where explosive charges were sawn for the fabric.
– Ildock doesn’t need more bloodshed. We can all live in peace. – I whispered with my throat barely open, but he just smiled again.
– True, but this way is so much fun. – he laughed, – I waited for a Zarian to show up. What does your radical terrorist like to shout before they blum? “Aramon wills it?” – he tilted his head and pressed the button.