Confessions of a War Child by Chaker Khazaal

Author:Chaker Khazaal
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction & Literature
Published: 2013-02-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

The Mission

It is time for a confession: for sixty-six years now, I have been scared to know more about my Camilia’s thoughts. I have only been an observer to her mission in life, which I was never clear about in the first place. For decades, she fought for obtaining the rights for my will and finding the identity of my murderer. I did not feel defeated when she gave up on finding out who killed me, for how would have she known in a country of corruption and war? I have always known who killed me; it didn’t matter to me any longer. When Abu Khalil told me the entire story, I chose to forget parts of it and only focus on the positives. What mattered is my Camilia, and for my people of Saghar to again be at peace with our neighbours of Kabar.

When I first came to the World of the Dead, I was looking forward to travelling to any part of the world, or any person for that matter. Here I was not judged by anyone for thoughts or opinions I had. I was not bound to any limits that a country or society had put upon me. My only important mission was to watch out for Camilia.

Right after my murder, I saw Camilia crying loudly over my body, with blood all over her. I comforted her with a hug she probably felt, but no one saw. I stood up and cleaned the blood on my clothes and ran towards the man who fired the bullet at me after he had remounted his black horse.

I ran faster than the horse until he stopped to drink water at a neighbouring well. He did not see me. His heartbeats were loud; I could hear them as he poured water in his palms and washed his face. He was terrified, and I could swear that I had seen him before during one of my trips to Kabar. I knew he was sent on a mission to kill me, and that was all I knew before I talked to Abu Khalil.

I yelled at my murderer after chasing him: “You. Why did you decide to end my life at the time it was just starting?”

He did not know where the voice came from, but his fear led him to answer: “I don’t know who you are. I only knew about you from them.” He thought he was speaking to himself, not knowing that I was now part of him in the form of guilt.

“Who sent you to kill me?” I demanded, but our conversation was interrupted by men who came on more black horses, meeting this young fellow, now a murderer, by the well he drank from. I did not care to know more back then, because I wanted to return to my Camilia, who was still on the sand exactly where I was killed, lying over my body.

I was first like my people of Saghar, outraged at the people of Kabar who I believed had sent my murderer.

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