Imperialism, inequality, and injustice were seen, yet no one rescued us from the inhumanity shown by the British colonization. In the blink of an eye, everything was lost. Houses, land, and crops were gone, even the people we loved the most. Everything that once belonged to us was now taken away. Day and night of labour, but we barely had enough money to buy medicine. Millions of young people were lost to starvation. Are we considered nothing more than slaves? Do we have no right to advocate for ourselves? My feelings were described with just two words, miserable and melancholy. The sweat, blood, and tears shed by each Indian that last dripped on this soil were a curse to win their country and freedom. The lingering injustice shown by the British brought me back to the catastrophic site ten years ago. Scattered bodies, blood gushing and spurting as they fought for their last breath. Assassination, annihilation, and abduction. Many dear ones were lost, including my son Rahul.
I still remember that day very vividly. He was engaged in a game of seven stones with his friends right near the narrow alley behind our house. I called him out:
Me: Rahul, can you buy some groceries at the market? Your mother asked.
Rahul: Really? Did mum ask me or you?
Me: She did ask me, but you can buy anything with the rest of the money. Do not tell her.
Rahul: Rest of the money? Yeah, definitely! I am sure that there will be enough left for me to buy a mansion. (Chuckles)
Me: (I chuckle too)
While watching him slowly disappear into the alley, I settled on the floor mat inside and began reading the newspaper.
The door swung open in the strong wind, smacking into the wall. I gasped. As I turned around, an army of tall, bulky British soldiers dashed through the neighborhood, firing their AK-47s. I ran and hid in the corner, holding on to my dearest ones, my family. I saw Rahul walking past our window. He was suddenly spotted by the soldiers. He ran down the alley, chased by an army of soldiers. Despite standing up to stop them, my two-year-old daughter held me back. I felt helpless. I had to save my son, who had been chased by brutal soldiers. I had to protect my daughter and my wife, frightened by the blasting noise and did not even know what was happening. I felt frightened, apprehensive, and overwhelmed.
It became silent, no noise of AK-47s, no cry of the wounded, yet the cry of those who lost them. I faltered as I marched slowly towards my door. I was appalled. Drops of sweat dripped down my back, giving me the cold tension of air. Bodies were scattered around the ground, above walls, behind bushes, and everywhere. People started running and crying their hearts out for their loved ones who once protected them. I ran to check outside the window waiting for Rahul to come back, however; I failed to see him. I failed to stand still as my knees trembled. I could hear my heart racing. I felt like my heart was about to burst out. The blasting bomb sounds still rang in my ears. I was concerned and terrified. I hoped that he was safe.
I ran down the alley and suddenly stumbled in the middle of the alley. I was startled by the catastrophic sight sprawled before me. My senses froze. I felt immobile and voiceless. I saw my son below a ruptured pile of bricks. Tears streamed like a river, blurring my vision. The cry of the helpless, the cry of the pain, the cry of the forsaken. I laid his head on my lap. Blood gushed and spurted as he battled to take his last gasp of breath. I cried. It was my fault. I should have never told him to go. My voice was intertwined with anguish and disbelief. The indistinguishable difference between reality and nightmare was blurred. I wanted to wake up from that nightmare and never return. I cried out his name aloud, thinking that he would at least wake up, but he slept on with the rest of the lost souls.
The statement of intent:
This piece of writing is a creative writing describing a dad’s experience of losing his son due to the injustice shown by the British colonization. I have used extended pieces of rhetorical questions, short sentences, and alliteration to emphasize the character’s perspective and emotions. I want the reader to experience the growing emotions of losing your loved one. I have used a structure of past tense and present tense, hoping to make the reader engaged with the way this piece develops and ends.