Im carefully stepping over the pieces of the shells that had exploded someone’s life months ago...
I try to look out for the new, poisonous ones who are hiding their evil horns so they can blow up another innocent, young life into countless shreds of flesh.
The mines won’t listen to your prayers and they don’t give a slightest thing about mercy,
They want to blow you up and devour your blood while it is hot, just spilled out of your veins.
I see a skull, I pick it up with my hot yet trembling hands... The skull is the size of my palm. It was a baby. The one that couldn’t speak just yet, the one that hasn’t step a foot on the ground. It probably couldn’t even sit without it’s mom stabling it’s back so it doesn’t wobble and hurts its head...
Now, I hold it, sucking its pain it couldn’t feel because the death pulled the lever too fast.
I lie it back.
I step away, carefully choosing every step at a time.
I don’t want to be blown up, I don’t want someone else to hold my skull and guess my age, my gender, my identity.
I don’t want them to make up the stories of my life because they will never guess the plot of it.
I keep shuffling my feet through the ground, I try to feel the earth’s cries and pleads to me.
I take a step.
The baby’s skull met mine.
Hey, what is your name?