I saw the Spanish flag. Then, I saw the big wheels of the gatling gun. It had multiplerotating barrels that belted out metal stones like a canyon. A young boy struggled as hepushed it forward. He cranked it, and the bullets began to fly, firing off explosive shots.The bullets flew aimlessly. People screamed, and ran in disarray, trying to find a place tohide, to find cover. The gatling gun continued to shoot out bullets, with little accuracy,but with the fortitude of infantry archers. The bullets pierced through human flesh,knocking slaves and Indians off their horses, killing mothers, sisters, and daughters,brothers, fathers, and uncles. Their screams were loud and heart wrenching.
I shot up and realized that the screams were coming from a bohio nearby. Quickly, Igot up and ran toward the sound of the voices. How could you forget about them? Howcould you have failed to protect them? I thought to myself. I saw the Spanish soldiersroaming around. They were setting huts on fire and burning crops. It was a horrific sight,and my mind just couldn’t process it.
I ran towards the hut with the sick children. I slammed the door behind me. I restedagainst it while scanning the room, not knowing what to do. There were dozens ofhammocks with young children in them. They turned as they moaned in their sleep. Theywere all sweating from feverish headaches. There was a pungent smell of both shit andvomit, but that didn’t worry me.
It was smoke. It seeped inside the crevices of the hut like the fumes from a deadlybomb. My eyes were itchy and dry as a cactus. I felt like I had just swallowed a handfulof burning embers. I could feel the smoke burning up my insides. I was attacked by a fitof coughs. Air, I needed air. I covered my nose and mouth and made my way toward thedoor. It was locked. I closed my eyes tight, I couldn’t look at them, but I could hear theircries.
“Help me. Help me. Help me,” they said.
I opened my eyes and saw young children who were bone thin like skeletons. Theyhad large moon like eyes and jet-black hair. They were once beautiful and healthychildren. I remembered my own childhood. I was so free, happy, loved. I ran around allday, nagging my mother and trailing after my father, learning all the secrets of our tribe. Islid down the door and began to weep. I cried for the children who would never knowhow it felt to be free. I buried my face in the crevice of my arm. I couldn’t look at them. Ijust couldn’t face what my world had become. The smoke was getting thicker, but I couldsee the children’s eyes in the darkness. They were filled with emptiness and despair.
There was a flicker of light that came from a flame that bounced off of one hammockonto another. In a matter of seconds, the hammocks were completely on fire. The flamesrose around the children like a log of wood in a furnace. I screamed. I closed my eyes,trying to escape the image, but it continued to live in my mind. All I could see wereyoung children with thick puss like dimples all over their bodies; some had scratched atthe deadly rash until their skin was raw. Some had huge lesions on their body that werebadly infected from neglect. Their skin darkened, like porcelain seared by a flame.
This was Hell. We were burning in Hell.
“We are the shadows. The shadows. The shadows. The shadows.” We are the buriedsouls of the past. Our pain is your pain.”
I shot up. I was in Nico’s house. I looked around me. I was lying in a canopy styledbed with ivory curtains, and pillows stuffed with goose feathers. There was a Victorianstyle dresser with matching armoire that had brass handles. There was a beauty standtucked in the corner with a huge pear shape mirror on top of it. Ali came rushing into theroom. He looked relieved and then angry. Before he got a chance to say anything, Nicowalked into the room.
“Nico, man I’m sorry. Sometimes she just faints and we just can’t wake her up,” Alisaid.
Nico raised his hand to silence him before he motioned for Ali to leave the room. Alilooked incredibly annoyed and distrustful. He opened his mouth to speak, but Nico justglared at him.
“Mija, are you okay?” Nico said.
I sat up and shook my head. I spotted a glass of water on the nightstand and then theflashing digital numbers on the cloak radio. I watched in disbelief as the numberschanged from 12:07 to 12:08. Was it twelve o clock at night? I looked out the windowand saw that it was daylight. I had slept through the whole night and half the day. I drankthe water in one long gulp.
“You did good Mija. Real good,” he said. He smiled in a weird kind of way, like acon man, who was plotting to steal my soul.
He sat on the bed and reached for my hand. There was only one emotion that I wasfeeling, disgust. I hated myself even more now. My cheeks flushed. I wasn’t really surewhat had happened the other night, but I didn’t like it. Nico held my hand in his. It was aloving gestures but it felt wrong, like I was committing incest. I pulled my hand away andplaced it back into my lap. There was a long awkward silence. Nico got up and left. Itwasn’t until I heard the door closed that I broke down. I just lost it. I covered my headinto my hands and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. I cried for King Foot and for all of us,because we were burning in Hell.
I hated nights at Nico’s house. They were scary
