Fiction-War Reverie

A dozen of bullets whizzed past Makechemu, as he lay flat on the ground. His heart pounded furiously and with the force of a sledgehammer. His body was soaked with fear-induced beads of perspiration. 

For a moment his sphincter muscles loosened. He had nothing to fire back with as his empty AK rifle lay on his side. He knew that running away was no option as it would jeopardize his chances of survival.

He lay there prostrate, hoping the firing would cease. Death was written all over his face as bullets continued to zoom past his head.

More sweat poured out of his battered body like a hot spring when it dawned on him that he could have been the only survivor among his colleagues. His friend Mashoko who was near him was battling for life after an eagle-eyed bullet caught him just below the jaw. He lay beside him, blood oozing out of his bullet-riddled body like water from an ewer.

Makechemu closed his eyes and lay still awaiting his fate. In his anguish, he heard heavy footsteps approaching from a distance. The thought that he would be killed immediately should the enemy find him still alive, brought more anguish to him.

Like a grass snake, he remained flat in his sanctuary while hatching a plan for his survival.

“They are all dead!”Somebody in the group declared triumphantly, his thundering voice tearing through the momentary silence. Makechemu guessed he was the leader.

“But this one is not dead,” another voice added and Makechemu hated this one most.

“Finish him off! We do not want to leave any soul alive. They may call for reinforcement,” the commander’s authoritative voice bellowed.

Makechemu nearly bolted from his sanctuary but his instincts held him back.

A sharp explosive sound shattered his ears and he could not resist opening his eyes shortly to see what had transpired.

They had finished Muchenje at close range. For the umpteenth time, his sphincter muscles loosened. He was afraid he would meet the same fate.

He rolled himself over Mashoko’s blood that was now flowing like spilling diesel. He quickly soaked himself, careful not to be detected.

The mixture of his waste and Mashoko’s blood attracted big, green, and noisy flies that descended in their dozens. 

He spread his arms restlessly on the ground as the enemy reached his hiding place.

Something very sharp pricked his buttocks.

"A bayonet," he thought to himself. The sensations nearly brought out a shrill cry out of him but somehow he managed to hold back and tensed his tender and delicate muscles. 

A size twelve gumboot stepped on his head and on the day, he must have thanked his ancestors for making him such a pretender. He allowed his body to yield with the flexibility of a worn-out ball joint.

“This one has soiled on himself,” one of them said, bursting into a sarcastic laugh while the rest joined in. From their discussion, Makechemu guessed they were five.

“Is he really dead?” one of them asked skeptically. Makechemu’s heart sank.

“You said you will not leave any soul alive,” the man said already coking his rifle. The sound of the bullet being fed into the firing chamber was clear and precise. Makechemu started to count the remaining seconds of his life silently.

“One-e-e, Two-o-o-o, Thre-e-e.”

“Leave him!” the commander bellowed.

“Do you think he will survive? Leave him to rot alive. Can’t you see the flies are already doing their work on him? He will be food for maggots soon.”

They left him.

Makechemu sighed inwardly. His eyes remained closed for what seemed to be an eternity until he was certain that the enemy had gone.

As he gained his sight back, a dark horrendous figure caught his eye. It was a huge elephant feeding on the leaves of a tree next to him. He was almost under its shadow. 

He watched it as it lifted its tusk, flapped its ears at the same time letting out a sharp piercing shrill, a sign the enormous mammal had sensed danger.

The elephant moved its tusk in every direction trying to detect the source of the human odor. It was obvious he would be crushed to mincemeat.

“Trouble begets more trouble. From the frying pan into the fire,” he thought to himself.

He hatched another plan.

With a scream, he woke up from his hiding place and tried to run for dear life but he could not. His legs seemed to have been tied together. The more he tried to run, the more he fell down. He watched the heavy trudge of the elephant’s feet trailing him. He let out a loud hysterical scream.

Baba Tine! Baba Tine! What is wrong?” His wife asked.

Makechemu woke up puzzled, eyes almost bulging from their sockets, rivulets beads of perspiration on his forehead, and smiled.

“Ooops, that was close,” he said with relief.

“Don’t worry Mai Tine, it was one of those war dreams,” he said to his wife before reclining back to sleep.

“What dream Baba Tine? Can’t you see you have messed yourself?” she cried.