Little John

The Bogeys were set on fire. The entire nation was enraged. How could a minority be so audacious. Well, these were questions that didn’t matter to the little John, who was locked in a cabin inside a house, had been locked for days now, with no food or water supply, except for the occasional drops of water that would trickle down the roof through the cracks in the wall. Little John was 10 years old. He had never seen pain before in his life, like the way he saw it now. Shops being burnt by violent fanatics. Victims finding places for shelter. Little John had been lucky to find this little apartment, not very far from him original home. His parents had died in the riots. His father was a cardiac patient. So he couldn’t really owe his life to the craziness. But his mum. His mum he missed. He had a pendant to remember her, and he would hold it and pray. Things had been changing outside the apartment. Little did he know that a greater destiny awaited him.
It was well past midnight when he awoke with a start. There was a weeping sound coming from outside. he was too scared to go out and check. But mustering all his strength, he still did. It took him the courage of his life to open the creaking door and tiptoe outside into the verandah, and ensure that there was no major problem. That it was just a dog crying its lazy cry. But it turned out to be a man. An old man. John didn’t know what to do. He came up to the old man. The Man was doubly bent with legs that could barely support him. His aquiline nose did well to hook him to the string of life but his eyes. His eyes were that of a man in serious pain. Excruciating pain. John extended a hand, but the old man refused to be comforted. Take my hand Old Man, i can help you, said the young john, who had absolutely no idea what he was doing. The Old man looked back at john with bloodshot eyes and with partial agreement, nodded his head but still didn’t take john’s hand. John made a bold move here. He reached out for the old man’s hand and pulled him up. Surprisingly, the old man was weak enough to be pulled up so easily. As soon as he was on his feet, he tumbled back down on the ground. With great effort, John brought the old man back to the apartment. He gave him some of the water he had collected. But the old man needed food. And there was none.
John was scared at the idea of leaving this apartment. The old man would die soon- die of starvation if not of old age. Something had to be done. 6 hours had passed, and a curfew lay upon the day that was dawning upon the earth. John listened for any sound that was coming from outside. No sound. Maybe the rioters had left this particular area and gone elsewhere. There was a bakery close by the apartment. There may still be hope. John picked his favourite weapon, a slingshot and slowly crept out of the room. The morning light touched him, and everything else in his optimistic path- gave it a little sparkle. John walked and walked till he found the bend on the road which led to the bakery. It was a shook up town that he saw. Fires were raging at places. Everything lay scattered. Pieces of bread were strewn all around the bakery. Maybe there was fresher stuff inside, thought john. As he came close to the bakery, he got a better look of the matters inside. The front door had been broken open. A half eaten bread was lying on the threshold. Seemed like it had all happened recently. No time to think about that, he thought, i just need to take some bread and get back to the old man. John entered the bakery and starting filling his small leather pouch with little crumbs of bread. If only there was juice too. Within 10 minutes, the bag was full and he was ready to leave. That is when there was a screeching noise, like someone was shouting at him. He left the bakery in haste and went outside only to find a man with a gun rambling wildly. He must be drunk. As soon as the man saw John, he tried pointing his gun at him and even shot a round. But he missed. John stood frozen to the ground, unable to move. The man ordered John to come closer to him. John did. and As he inspected john with his hideous fingers, John knew that his time was up. He would soon be dead. The dishevelled man looked john straight in the eyes and asked one simple question, more like one last question- have you... have you seen my father?
John was stunned. One moment ago he’d thought this man would bring about his death, and now it was totally different. I haven’t seen him, but i could help you find him, said john with hope. The dishevelled man, pleased at this remark, then turned his attention to what john was carrying. What is that? He inquired. That is my leather pouch, said John. It’s got some bread for.. for someone. What someone, he asked. John, with an increasingly reluctant tone answered- there’s an old man in an apartment close by. I need to fetch him some bread. Otherwise, he will die. Oh my God, said the rambler. That could be my father. They hurried back to the apartment. Nothing had changed except that there was a weird smell. And the old man’s body was proof of it. It was the stench of death. The dirty man couldn’t take it. He just couldn’t take it. He got so mad, he drove a bullet through his head. John, who was witnessing it all, couldn’t say a word. He was a changed man now. He had seen fire, water, earth and ether. And what was ether? The death and murder of two men right in front of him. Things would never be the same for John. in any case, when are they?