It was night when they came for us. The soldiers, they came for us. They took everything. Ruthless, overpowering, too strong to fight. They wore red, they killed everyone that stood in their way. I was just ten years old when they came. I was just ten years old when my life ended. The sun had set on my small village of Digba in Central Africa.The air was crisp and chilly, a normal July night in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, that was until we heard the engines roaring into my little village, like a lion who had just taken its prey. My brother, Azul, was the first to wake. The gunfire startled me awake next. The screams of my people were too strong. The Men in Red were too strong. “Did you hear that, Azul?” I asked still in a haze of …show more content…
Down by the river, between two specific trees. If she wasn’t there by the first hour of dawn, I was to go on with my journey and get help for the remaining children. I started to smell smoke. This wasn’t the usual smell of burning flesh from the fire pits that casted a shadow over the camp everyday, this was hardwood and leather from the barracks. The soldiers, they lit the whole camp on fire. Imani had to have been killed. I just knew they didn’t want any survivors or escapees to expose what was really happening, what kind of torture Captain put his child slaves through. I waited down by the river until the designated time in the morning. I heard a scream, a familiar voice, “Aurora, Aurora run!” It was Imani. I turned to the familiar voice. I saw two Men in Red, one with a pistol to my friend’s head. I heard the bang of a distanced rifle. I felt the bullet pierce my sternum as I fell backwards into an infinite abyss. My arms were spread to the side, as if I was being hung on a crucifix. The water of the river splashed around my lifeless body, as I drew my last breath, I was just ten years old when they came for us. I was just ten years old when my life