Thje story teller Fighter Jets from I am a Dirty Immigrant After a few days of being at my brother’s house, I was becoming used to the war. That is until one early afternoon. I was high, as usual, sitting at the window watching the helicopters. I heard an earsplitting boom followed by a loud explosion. I jumped away from the window, confused, and the house shook, as if it would shift off of its foundations. A volley of antiaircraft gun shots rang out; it felt like the shots were fired right next to me. I dove to the ground and lay there listening. I heard myself breathing as the antiaircraft guns rang out. There was an eerie silence for a few minutes, so I rose up and looked out the window. A strange aircraft blasted in from the ocean and flew over the city. Another explosion rocked the hills behind the house. I ran to the other side of the room trying to decipher what the hell was going on. My brothers joined me at the window as a fighter jet disappeared into the blue sky. Smoke bellowed from a building in the distance as the antiaircraft guns responded. The sounds generated from the attack were the single most frightening sound I had ever heard. I reached for a joint, lit it up, and drew hard. I remember thinking, “What if they missed their targets and hit the house?” Funny thing about human beings: we can grow to tolerate anything, as long as we get used to it. That is one reason that nations can have violent conflicts that last for years. For the next couple of weeks I stayed high and played pool in the verandah of the house. I became fed up with staying inside.
Posted on: Wed, 04 Sep 2013 12:09:36 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015