The bitter smell of
apartheid hangs in the air like a large grey cloud, ready to burst. It is a
constant reminder, like a dog nipping at my heels as I walk, of my duty as a
man of colour. My promise to those lost in the cross fire of freedom. As I pace
through the town I once knew, I notice homes striped of their outers- nothing
but a skeleton frame left, Another fingerprint from apartheids firm hand. The
soft skin under my foot is pierced by a piece of broken window left shattered
on the floor. I watched for a minute as the pieces danced in the sunlight, like
broken dreams coming to life. A cool breeze shakes me from my daydream and
awakens my senses as millions of tiny bumps appear on my war scarred arms. I am
on a dangerous road but I can’t turn back, a phantom presence pushes me forward
onto unknown territory. I am fighting for my future, schoolbooks in hand. I am
fighting for freedom, for power but most of all for life. I am now in the war
zone; shrieks from an injured woman curse my ears as the sound of a nearby
gunshot vibrates through my soul. I jerked my body around and faced the
opponent, my wild, crazed eyes looked straight through his soul. Who am I to
predict what was to happen next?
Mouth wide open in fear, my
face falls into the sweet soil of my country. All I can taste is the bitterness
of war. As the dust particles ascend my airways and turn to flames that lick my
throat, I feel no need to move. Reliving my last breath like a new born calf
hangs onto its first. I close my eyes and face the truth one last trying time,
a young boy clinging onto the tiny grain of hope that’s left. I may have fallen
in darkness but I am certain one day there will be light
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