Something hard hit Worubu at the back of his head. He shook his head, to recover from the shock and his eyes sought the perpetrators of the attack. From across the stream a group of boys looked at him with anticipation and fear. They all were hardly a summer over 15, almost Worubu’s own age.
Worubu rose up slowly, using the support of his AK-47. A homemade football, made up of old rags and plastic and tied up with pieces of rope, lay near his foot. His eyes went instantly towards the stump where his left leg used to be till the land mine explosion. Usually, he tried to ignore the pain which kept him up most nights and blank out the anguish of loosing his whole family in the blast but the constant itching in his missing leg didn’t give him that respite.
“STOPPPPP”, a voice filled the grey sky.
A figure dashed by Worubu’s side and ran towards the stream. At that moment, Worubu forgot everything. The pain, the sufferings, the grief, the sorrow, all took a back seat as a tidal wave of anger and hatred rose inside him. Later he would regret his actions but at that instant he had found the way to channel his anger & anguish to.
His face contracted into a vengeful half snarled expression. Without uttering a word he raised his gun, aimed and fired.
Each one of the bullet found its way into the target.
Worubu hopped across to the dead figure but a small child beat him to it. The child showed Worubu three uncut diamonds he had taken from the half clasped fist of the dead man.
“They would shine more if we wash off the blood from them”, said Worubu.
Had this story in mind since a long time, got inspired by a lot of things. Dafur, Soccer World Cup, Africa, Blood Diamonds, Child Soldiers to name a few.
I love the title though. So many connections and I can feel dwelling deeply into each of them.