A CHILD IN RED (7): Horrors of War
The sound of shuffling paper woke him up in a dark room. He could make out Afsoon’s small shape standing at the edge of the bed.
No, please.
Walsh fumbled on his desk for his flashlight. Finding it, he clicked it on. The light bounced around his room, illuminating every corner.
Every inch of his walls and across his ceiling was covered in Afsoon’s drawings of the two of them playing. Some had dogs, and others were running. The sun shone brightly in every image.
How can this be?
He moved his flashlight beam back toward her.
I can’t take this.
She was holding his rifle out to him. A smile stretched across her angelic face.
“Os sta war di.”
“No,” he said, waving it aside.
She looked down at it, then pointed it at the room next to his, aiming it at where Miller slept, her finger moving toward the trigger.
“Bia da valagha war di.”
Lunging forward, Walsh grabbed the rifle, hoping to point it upward.
She stared at him, the rifle locked in her arms. It didn’t budge. She didn’t budge, her small feet remaining firmly planted. He used every ounce of strength he had, but he couldn’t move the rifle from the direction of Miller’s head.
“Please, no,” he quietly pleaded, releasing the rifle and dropping to his knees in front of her.
Her face didn’t change—calm, angelic, cruel. A child’s smile masking a god’s judgment.
He thought of home. His niece. Miller. The sound of helicopters.
“I can’t do this.”
She pointed it at him.
“I can’t do this.” His voice cracked, and tears began to roll down his cheeks.
“Taa bayed prekra wakry.”
She pointed it back at the quarter-inch thick wall that Miller was sleeping on the other side of.
“Why?”
Slowly, she drew the charging handle back.
“Taso bayed ghura kri.”
She can’t be. I can’t.
She released it. A round slid forward into the chamber. The sound was deafening in the quiet room.
The rifle was now loaded.
“Yo sok bayed mar shi.”
“What was that?” Miller asked, his voice a groggy, half mumble.
She pointed it back at Walsh.
“Aya taso prekra kary?”
He licked his lips and took the rifle barrel in his shaking hands.
“Hey, Walsh, you up?” Miller asked.
Walsh placed the cool muzzle underneath his chin, the butt of the weapon on the ground. He looked down and heard the clunk of the rifle safety switching to fire.
“Walsh!” Miller screamed, from the other room.
“Paa makha mo kha, Kevin.
Afsoon’s small fingers pressed down on the trigger.
He heard a pop.
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The Story continues in The Horrors of War series.
If you want to know what happens after the last drawing burns, explore the larger story in Objective Two (OBJ 2)—a novel that expands beyond Kevin’s perspective and dives deeper into the haunted valley of Najil, the soldiers who survive him, and the darkness that won’t let them go.
Download Objective 2 – EPUB, MOBI, PDF
Book one of The Horrors of War series is available here.
