The old gun story

It's dark as if you don't want to move from the sky of this city. Cloudy dawn was just comparing the sun without wanting to hurry to leave it, to just show its might on the earth on a deserted morning, gripping and rome anyone's goosebumps in a situation like this.

When the sun has begun to embrace the morning with him, people who have spent the night resting can start their activities more enthusiastically. But every eye I catch is always swollen. The look on fatigue that implies sadness, submission and submission will live as if always enlivening every corner of the face. The lowered gaze, the silent lips added to the power of the face to cover everything that had happened. If indeed the face is a reflection of the heart, as if the faces say, "Do you not see me if you do not want to sink into sadness."

In every sad situation or in a vast, barren, arid desert, don't be afraid if there is no offer of freshness. Just as when in difficulties that seem to be wrapped around the whole body, never despair because there must be a knife to cut the rope, even if only on your nose to breathe.

Hero who is always in every sadness, struggle for life and war that forces us to fight not someone else, but it seems what is in our hearts. It is self-confidence and spirit that makes the trajectory of every road that has been thick, a sharp knife for a twist that can never be penetrated by anything.

The light of that power, I can find today, is a colonel standing at the door of this shelter. From the skin folds on his face, it shows that in fact he is no longer young. The term grandfather deserves him clothing. But because of responsibility, his young soul rose again. The enthusiasm of a former war fighter is still fertile, not a single bit has died out in him. Although I know the pain actually approached him two days ago. I clearly knew the terrible tragedy. Because I, who had only been a savings item in the family of the colonel, had functioned again that day.

"I don't think I'm strong, sir."

While supporting his wife's head, the colonel could only silently stare at his face which was being blown away by death.

"If indeed something happens to me, just suppose that all of this is a mere trial."

Suddenly there was a drop of tears coming out of the colonel's eyelids.

"Wait for my wife, soon the morning has come and we can go to the nearest health center."

Because too much blood flowed from my head, finally before reaching the puskesmas, the colonel's wife had died. The Colonel did not have time to contact his children because the situation was still tense. Besides that, you might be afraid that things will get worse.

Already the colonel alone on this island, like the first time he came here. His life was inseparable from the situation of war, whatever he was thinking now, his gaze that never flinched, indicating he was a true colonel from the colonial era until the days of ideological battles.

I myself did not expect to change ownership to the colonel's hands. I used to belong to a wealthy merchant from Malay. My age is indeed long ago almost 120 years ago. Every merchant at that time had at least two or four sturdy bodyguards. The faithful follow him wherever his master goes. Because not infrequently the merchants traveled far enough, sailing from one island to another. So that weapons to protect themselves and their belongings are very much needed. I used to be rarely used by my owner. Because his bodyguards were quite capable of overcoming the situation if a robbery suddenly occurred.

Until finally I met with the colonel who was undergoing exile on this island. The Colonel, who at that time was not possessed of any property, asked for a job to the Malay merchant. From there the introduction to rich Malay merchants began to intertwine. The relationship between master and labor is well established. Because the colonel is indeed a type of hard worker. Until finally when the merchant wanted to return to his native country, he could only give a souvenir of a gun which was none other than myself, with only five bullets in it. I do not know what the intention of the merchant gave the colonel a memento of a gun.

Fortunately the colonel was indeed the right person to be given a gun. He never used me, like the merchant treated me first. The Colonel only functions me no more than a memento from a friend who must be looked after and cared for. But since yesterday's incident it turned out that I was not an object that only reminded me of a memory to the past. But I have made the owner have confidence in the threat of the enemy. And make it still not back down in conflict situations.

But I myself was horrified if I had to imagine, I hurt someone who was innocent. I will be proud if I can help a country that is colonized towards its independence. I will be very happy that my bullet penetrates the stomachs of the colonists who have consumed the people's right to life.

What if later my bullets pour blood from the stomachs of the people of this country?

What if my bullet will penetrate the skin walls of a father who is waiting for his wife and children at home?

What if suddenly my bullet hits the heads of children who are leaving school to pursue their dreams?

Or is a pregnant woman waiting for the birth of her child?

Even though I'm just an old gun that isn't as fierce as an explosion of a Russian-made Yakhont missile, or a Harpoon missile that is often used by the US to drive away anyone who tries to block his mission. But if there were bullets coming out of my snout, it could be that a wife would become a widow. Or a pair of lovers will lose someone they really love. Destroy me before someone loses his smile and laugh.

Today has been counted three days since the incident yesterday, but the situation still seems quite tense, soldiers from the TNI have started arriving. They always carry long barrel guns everywhere. As if ready to blow up every head who will fight him. Apparently this conflict arose because there was a group of citizens who were not satisfied with the results of the election of mayors in this area. In addition to destroying the election committee's office, apparently dissatisfied citizens also attacked the sympathizers of the elected party, incidentally it was indeed in the colonel village as the main base.

The Colonel heard the statement from the child immediately ran towards the conflict. Apparently the sound of screaming again enveloped the dispute. The TNI which was assigned to secure could only use warning shots. The Colonel at that time had begun to take me out of his pocket.

If possible, I say, "Please do not force me to kill fellow friends, friends, relatives, people who have been in this country all this time. Just destroy me so that the blood doesn't flow again to the motherland ... let me just be an old gun as a display of some collections from a collector. "

Twilight again overshadowed the sky this afternoon. Deliver the evening at night and show the time for birds to return to their nest. Time is indeed uncompromising for just a moment we are careless then don't get sorry if he has snatched you away. I never thought everything ended as tragically as the colonel, you answered my prayer but instead you yourself were injured. A knife has poured blood from your neck. Sharp objects can be stopped for a moment. And it turns out that's the end of your life. Become a victim of a misunderstanding that will not scent your name, as if you were killed in the battlefield. Everything is just in vain ...

I have not been found by anyone because the black sky has covered the city. The night turned out to be in action, and the star just looked down in shame, and I knew there were still four bullets in me.

That night actually went on as usual, many people were still passing on the street. Especially the sound of laughter from children who had just returned home from studying the Koran from Surau near the house still sounded quite loud. But suddenly a later the voice changed with a cry of fear. The Colonel, who was currently mingling with his wife in the middle room while drinking coffee, was shocked and ran to the front of the house.

It turned out that it was obvious, a group of residents carrying clitit, machete, wood, and stone ran towards our village. I did not know what really happened, the colonel, who after hearing the shout, took me from the drawer, brought in his wife and came out the back door. Not far enough to get out of the house, the mother fell, her head hit the rocks thrown by one of the hordes. Old age seems to have limited his ability to run fast.

The sudden invasion seemed to have confused the colonel, especially seeing the condition of his now bloodied wife making him quite shaken. If during the war it is clear who must be opposed, but for now who is wrong, and who must be fought very faintly. But if that does not conflict with his own life at stake, with a wise enough attitude the colonel will function me by pointing my muzzle into the air. My woodpecker is ready to be pressed and "Dor"

Gunshots rang out loudly in the air, for a moment the mob stopped running and began to retreat. Seeing the situation, the colonel took his wife to flee to a safer place. The Colonel actually has 3 children. But apparently with the conditions of the regions that did not support their careers, children who were all married chose to emigrate outside the island. The Colonel actually doesn't come from this area. He is from Java, which no one knows the exact city of him. Maybe because it has bitter memories, when there is a struggle for independence. The Colonel himself, who at that time was a prisoner of war, was banished to this island.

Finally we reached the dark forest bushes. What was heard was only the moans of pain and the breath of the colonel who continued to hunt.

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