Victim

Staring out of the window my eyes are greeted with the first
few
rays of sunlight appearing in a darkened sky. The once
resplendent moon and stars start to fade gently amongst
brightening shades of blue creeping across the sky from the
east. Slithers of sunlight make the fresh dew glisten like
scattered crystal drops, some splitting the light into a myriad
of colour. Birds start to gently chirp and end the silence that
encompassed the night. Water cascading over small rocks and
pebbles in a nearby stream create a gentle tinkling sound to
accompany the tuneful chirping of the awakening birds.

The serenity, beauty and peacefulness of the scene creates a
stark contrast to hectic, pressured, polluted, and crowded city
life. Cities breed suits, stress and sleaze. Yet it is still
home and loved by many. This place however is my retreat, the
home for my mind and soul. This is the place where philosophy
invades my thoughts and laziness captivates my body. I have no
desire to rush through life and miss the seemingly minute
details that contribute to overall happiness. I'd rather sit and
ponder upon life's complexities. However this option is not open
to many. Life is tough and demanding too much from mortals.

A shuffling of feet behind me distracts my thoughts and diverts
my gaze. Standing before me now is a victim. A victim of the
tragedies of life, and the pushing of a mortal's strength.
Standing before me is a victim of war. Once a strong ambitious
man, a specialist in business with a passion of the arts, and
now a dependant. Once a man of pride, and now a man consumed
with hatred and fear. The clich? "In the wrong place at the
wrong time," comes to mind. A shattering of glass pierces my
ears and tears begin to stream down my sons face.
"It's ok Michael, I shall clean it up," I tell him as I
lead him towards the sofa, wiping away tears with a tissue at
the same time.

His year out to go travelling the world should have been one of
the best and most memorable years of his life. However the
memories that accompany the last year are not pleasant ones. The
beauty of a sunrise no longer has the same effect upon Michael.
No longer does he capture in watercolour or oil the gentle
shades of blues, pinks and yellows as the sun starts to glimmer
over the horizon. I try to hold back my own tears as I glimpse
one of his paintings hanging on the wall. But in this task I
fail. Wrapping my arms around him, I sob gently into his
shoulders as he sobs into my hair.

A single bomb in an unexpected battlefield has turned my
ambitious artistic son into a weeping wreck. He has been left
severely scared, almost blind and heartbroken. He has lost a
wife and I have lost a daughter in law. Screams and sobs now rip
through restless nights as he relives the scene in his dreams.
Unexpected expulsions of noise create panic attacks and sudden
encompassing feelings of fear. Anger escalates at being unable
to see to paint and unable to carry out tasks to a previous
efficiency. The dreams may go, the anger may subside but nothing
can fill the gaps in our hearts for our precious Rebecca.

Innocent victims and their families have had their lives
shattered by a car bomb placed in a busy street. Unexpected by
all, and achieving nothing but devastation and distress. There
is no choice but to carry on, and rebuild our lives in any way
possible. But today is the 13th of July- Michael and Rebecca's
wedding anniversary. The heartache is almost too much to bear
and the emptiness of the house is echoed through the silence in
each room. I still expect to hear Rebecca's singing bouncing off
of walls around the house. Or to see a paint fight erupt when
the two of them have been painting the outside of the house. Yet
this is not to be.

Unable to paint, Michael has focussed his attention on
sculpture. Today his latest piece is to be unveiled outside the
theatre where the community came to know Rebecca. Her work with
the youth theatre gained her awards for community service and a
sense of pride and fulfilment that was irreplaceable. Michael's
sculpture is to be collected in a few hours and taken to its
final resting place. His memory has not failed him in this
sculptural masterpiece. Delicately carved in stone is a 3-D
portrait of Rebecca below a rainbow and surrounded by roses.
Below this is an engraving-

To Rebecca-
The Angel among us
Who taught us to live for our dreams
And to ride the rainbow of happiness
(1977-2002)

Our dreams and thoughts of happiness have been shattered. But
piece-by-piece, with memories of good times and acting upon some
of Rebecca's dreams, we may overcome this grieving and achieve a
level of happiness seemingly gone forever. Arm in arm with my
son we walk amongst the trees. Dreaming of a world where there
is no war, no devastation, but just peace, love, beauty and
happiness. In our dreams alone this desire may exist, but a soul
without dreams is like a heart without love.