Maimed by Felicity Edwards

I had worked for years as a soldier with the Northern Alliance, but had been captured by the insurgents. 

At first, they threw me in jail. Weeks passed with no trial or judgement. The conditions in prison were luxurious if you were a rat, but it was the anteroom to hell for humans. I sat in a corner, staring at the floor. There was nothing else to see. If I looked at my fellow inmates, I would offer myself as dinner to the rats scuttling over my foot. We were all with no hope. One day, a group of guards unlocked the door and called, "Karimullah." I sprang up, wondering. "What now? Are they going to torture me or set me free?" They hauled me roughly over the step and out into the sunlight. For a moment, the light blinded me, but my heart soared I was going to be set free. Forming a tight group about me, they marched down a silent, smelly street. I tried to look around to see where I was and where we here headed. I needn't have bothered as they threw me into the back of a pickup truck together with four others. We set off, and I asked, "Where are we going? I thought you said I was to be set free." 

We entered the football stadium. My heart sank. I knew what happened here. Next, they sprawled me on the grass. Held down by guards, one with tears in his eyes. Two doctors in grey uniforms injected me, one whispered, "You won't feel a thing, I promise." I didn't feel, but saw them expertly amputate my right hand and left foot. Then they set me free. 

Published in Issue #17

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