Rescued Me

Snarfles

It was blazing hot; and, even in the darker recesses of the tree in which I perched, the Sun managed to touch me occasionally with it's scorching brilliance. But it wasn't 'just hot', the humidity was so high that sweat ran down the back of my neck like Niagara Falls. To say it was uncomfortable would be akin to saying that Edgar Allen Poe was just a poet.

Earlier in the day, before the Sun had come up, I had checked my traps; making certain they were properly set, aimed for best effect, and that the connecting lines were secured at both ends. The trip flares under them placed just so, to prevent tampering. My escape route secure, I resumed my hiding place, and waited.

My hands on auto-pilot, cleaning my rifle, checking the magazine, cleaning the lenses of the scope, to kill the time. All around me birds and other animals voiced their opinions of the weather as they went about their business of finding enough to eat. Insects buzzed incessantly, investigating every scent around, attracted to the unusual smells of gun oil and human perspiration. Swatting at them proved a losing battle, and quick movements could give away my hiding place anyway. They had their way. The only ones I stopped were the ones that decided to stay and have dinner; in turn those I caught became my nourishment. True, I was hunting, but I had only one prey on the agenda, and definitely not on the menu.

And then I heard it, a sound not made by the local flora and fauna.

I looked for the source carefully, not wanting to be spotted, and saw her. A girl of perhaps eight years of age, nicely dressed, in a floral print top pink shorts and sneakers, her long dark hair in a high pony tail; and she was looking curiously at one of my claymore mines, the ones I had set as traps. If she so much as breathed too heavily on it, BOOM! Red smear.

What was I to do? If it went off, my quarry would change course and I'd miss the shot, if I shot her, the same result. If I chased her away, she'd tell whomever she came with, and if she saw me first...well what little girl wouldn't scream at the sight of a sweaty green monster with a big gun?

Leaving the rifle in the perch, I lept out of the tree and grabbed her, holding her closely, my hand over her mouth. I whispered in her ear in as soothing a tone as I could while she struggled to break free. Eventually she surrendered, sobbing behind my fingers, tears streaming from her eyes and running over my knuckles. I closed my eyes and prayed to every god I had ever heard of, begging to not have to do what I saw was my only option. So hard I prayed... and the world went black.

I woke to a man's voice, speaking gently, and a hand shaking me softly awake. My eyes opened and I saw I was surrounded by a dozen or so armed men. I was thinking 'Marvelous..' But it all seemed a bit off... they were huge! In fact everything around me was bigger than it had been. The man tending to me helped me to my feet, and I looked around curiously. In the tree was my rifle, smoke still wafting from the muzzle, one spent case on the ground below. In the distance I could see the trucks, and in one of them a red mess had splattered the windshield. One of the other men had found the mine and set about to disarm the trap. It was obvious he had seen or heard of the little surprise I had placed underneath.

My 'rescuer' took my hand and began waking me towards the convoy, when a woman rushed from just down the roadway at me, wrapping me in her arms and lifting me clear of the ground. At once scolding, relieved, loving, she yammered at me in a language I didn't know, turning to shield me from the grizzly view of the windshield, and spoke with the men for a time.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that this was the little girl's mother, MY mother now it seemed. She carried me to a house not far away, a large man and two boys, much taller than I was, gathered in a group hug of which I was the center. I wanted to say something, ask questions, go home... but my words came out incoherent, and I realized that no one would believe who I really was anyway. 'Mother' touched the back of my head, and I felt a sharp pain, my own fingers discovered a rather nasty bump and came back with a bit of blood on them. I swooned, nearly falling, but was caught by one of the boys before crashing to the floor. He helped me onto a comfy chair and Mother got a wet cloth and held it against the lump on my head.

From their gestures, it seems they are blaming the bump for my language block, or maybe the shock of being nearly killed... made no difference at the moment. I knew I wasn't going 'home', not like this. I knew that time would eventually answer my questions. Questions like: 'Why was this family living in a war zone?','Who was my target, in reality?','What happened to my body?'; but mostly 'why the hell am I a little girl!?'

It took some time, but I eventually learned to speak and read Spanish, I did girl chores on the family farm, like tending the chickens and gathering the eggs, working the herb garden with 'my mother', learning to sew and cook, and how to be a proper young lady.

The official story said that a US military sniper, had been working his craft in the area, at the behest of an allied government and on the assertion that they were fighting terrorist guerrilla forces. (It wasn't true, the guerrillas were just working people protesting oppression by their own government.) They said the sniper had simply vanished, officially listed as MIA. His body was never recovered.

The conflict continued to worsen as I grew up. My new family sought refuge in the USA, and the close call with the sniper got us asylum. The new me had just turned twelve years old. Time marched on, as it ever does, and growing up again (as a girl) had it's challenges, especially boys. Eight years later, I succumbed to the constant barrage, and fell in love. He was a wonderful man, kind, gentle, and would do anything to make me smile. We married soon after graduating college....

Twenty years had gone by, and in November it struck me... I have now been living longer as a girl than I had as a boy. The news was, like every year, promoting Veteran's Day, and I knew that my former self's status as 'MIA presumed dead' had been changed to 'declared dead'. Many missing soldiers would be ceremonially put to rest. A large memorial, engraved with their names would be erected, flanked with flagpoles and surrounded in elegant landscaping, to commemorate their service and their loss. I still wondered what had happened to the girls soul, and what had happened to my former body, and the answer came to me. She was with HIM, in the Heavens; and the body returned to the dust from which it came. I decided to attend the services.

It was carried out with military precision, razor sharp uniforms, the snap of salutes, a bugler rendering Taps, and an 18 gun salute. The sermon was brief yet touching, and many eyes watered in grief. After the ceremony concluded, and most of the attendees had gone, I wandered over to the huge stone and found my former name. My fingertips traced lightly over the engraved surface and a single tear fell from my eye.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back to face the Heavens, and thanked the powers that be for my salvation, for saving me from murdering an innocent child, for removing me from an unjust war, for not devastating my new family. (What family my former self had had, had long been estranged.) But mostly for giving me the power to bring life into the world. My hand fell from the monument and caressed my belly, and I smiled, while I considered when to share my 'other' secret.