When The Hunter Becomes Hunted

He escaped. With all the strength and speed he could master, he escaped. His heart was beating rapidly. His breath was shallow. His feet were barely touching the ground. He wished the boots were a bit lighter or the jeep that was parked across the street was closer. The M16 on his right hand was feeling heavier by the moment, as if it was dragging him behind. He considered if he could throw away the gun, maybe he would be quicker. But quickly he thought against it. His superior won’t be proud of him if he did that. Clutching the gun tightly, swinging the other free hand as much as he could, he escaped. Cursing those demonstrators who were after him, he escaped. He didn’t dare to glance back, there was no time. He felt abandoned. “Where are the other boys?” he thought as he escaped.

It was just another demonstration. “Those keffiyeh wearing, stone throwing, flag waving terrorists are always making demonstration!” he thought angrily. He knew they hate him as he hates them. He doesn’t understand why exactly they hate him or why he hates them. He was always told they are to be hated and when necessary silenced. “Why they just don’t go away?” he wondered millions of time before. He doesn’t like what he doesn’t understand. The occupying army took their position earlier at the end of the street where the demonstrators were heading. They first fired tear shells to disperse the angry mob. Some of the youths whose face was masked dared to kick away those shells. It really made his superior angry. They were ordered to fire live shots. Without question, without thinking twice of its consequence he obeyed orders. He was always told never to question. Some of the demonstrators fell on the street. One of them was shedding blood quite badly from the side of his head, one other was hit on the eye as his limp body laid on the street. “Good, now they will run away” he thought. Excitedly he chased after them now. He has to prove to his superior, he is better than others at doing his job!  At a distance the crowd became to regroup. They were now looking angrier. Some started to throw stones at them.  One stone narrowly missed him as he ducked. He looked around; all the other soldiers have fallen back already. He panicked. Fear crept on him as he felt abandoned. “What would those demonstrators do to him now that they have killed some?” he wondered. A new feeling now emerged suddenly.

Guilt!

He panicked. All his instinct was now bend on one thing, to get out of this crime zone. Far far away from those tear filled angry-looking eyes. No he doesn’t want to be held accountable. He did what he had to do to defend himself he thought. It was all a self-defense. Yet he felt weaker. Something was bothering him, something didn’t feel right. But he never understood. He could hear more gunshots as his colleagues were firing back to the angry mob. “Next time the jeep should be parked closer.” He thought angrily. With the corner of his eyes he could see some journalist taking pictures. “Good, people should know how those terrorists are threatening him. How he is becoming victimized!” he thought.

One more stone flew across his shoulder. With all the strength and speed he could master, he escaped!