Heart Shaped Wreckage

I’ve never known hope. Always read about it of course, in the books we could save before they were destroyed in the war. A feeling of expectation and desire for a particular thing to happen.

I understand that the idea of hope came with fairytales, but was still very much felt by everyone in real life as well. Not so much anymore. No, the last person I knew to hope was my mother. She used to read to me these very same fairytales before I fell asleep.

“When everything seems dark, a tiny bit of light makes a big difference” she would whisper before kissing my forehead.

That was, of course, the last thing she said to me before the dictator’s cronies burst through our houses and ripped her away from me, and with the gunshot that followed, any idea of hope was also ripped away from me.

You see that night was a momentous night for us all. Whilst I lost my mother, the whole country lost control. A stocky angry man with a firm brow that used to say silly stuff on the tv. How were we to know that this very man, the man everyone used to parody, would one day become the unwanted ruler of a country now filled with darkness. How did he convince the army to turn on their own people? How did so many people blindly follow him and why didn’t the strong people that stood for truth do anything about it?

Regardless, that’s not where we are right now. No, right now I’m out after curfew, as I often am nowadays. Only time I can think to myself without the muffled crying coming at night from people pretending to be strong for each.

I’m walking through my old neighbourhood. Through the streets I grew up in. Just down the road and to the left is where Jimmy knocked on someone's door and ran away only to run straight into a car and bounce down to the ground quicker than even gravity intended. One of the only things that will still bring a slight smile to my face. I remember it so vividly AND in slow motion. You know those moments? As if they all happened that slow.

And just behind me is where I saw my first movie. The old cinema, the one building that was from a time before me. Wonderfully ancient. You could go in with a tenner, buy a ticket, popcorn and a drink and still come out with change! Of course no buildings are left standing now, not even that one, the building that seemed like it would be there forever.

The streets I once knew, filled with little stories and incredible character, were the first to be levelled by the bombs. Everywhere that held any type of memory, anywhere that could have been important to my upbringing. Gone. And the kicker? The part that really stung? The first to be attacked was my house. I always thought it to be true but it got confirmed by so many now that I know it to be. The only one in my house to survive. I was lucky, as everyone kept telling me. Lucky, because my metal bunk bed took most of the debri and saved me. I don’t feel lucky.

As I’m heading down now towards where my house once was, I start to feel different. Not numb as I usually am but something else. Something new. You see, as I head towards my house I see a tiny light. 10 metres from my destination.

That quote my mother said came into my head:

“When everything seems dark, a tiny bit of light makes a big difference”

I never thought it might be so literal but the only lights we see nowadays are the streetlights. Or after curfew, searchlights. But never anything from the ground. So this was new. A tiny bit of light? Is this a sign.

My slow walk turns into a jog, and into a sprint towards this light in the darkness. I’m trying to not allow myself to feel it but it starts rushing back into me as if the tide that has gone out for far too long has finally come back in, and at speed.

Hope

For the first time in years I can feel it. I never knew it could feel like this. Just like the butterflies they talked about in stories. That overwhelming feeling that made me laugh out loud as I’m running towards this object

As I reach it I see that it's a locket. A beautiful heart shaped locket. A ruby heart with the shiniest gold trim you’ve ever seen. Seemingly untouched by the dirt and the mess of the outside world. A miracle it would seem. But a bittersweet one.

Because as I pick it up, the top of the locket falls off. And this hope is joined with a dark feeling. Like a massive suckerpunch, this locket revealed something. It revealed the chink in the armor that we’d never knew existed. A weakness to a person who was seemingly invincible. If what I see before me is true, this could bring about a rebellion. It would show that he’s human and he acts irrationally in emotion. Something we could use as a weapon towards him.

As that locket broke apart, it revealed an image inside. A black and white image. There, in the image stood a young man. A man I never knew could smile and look so kind. So innocent. A person who I never thought could be loved, let alone in someone’s heart shaped locket. That person was undoubtedly the Dictator. Dressed in a suit too big for him and shoes that he would almost definitely trip in every other step.

But that wasn’t the chink in the armor. No. I knew he must have been young once.

The one thing that always bothered me was why. Why my house? Why, in this entire country, would someone target MY house specifically as the first to be demolished in a terrible war? But as my eyes scan over the image in the locket you see that he’s not alone. For he is holding the hand of a beautiful woman. Quite possibly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And that’s where the bittersweet comes in.

I am hopeful. For the first time in my entire life, I am hopeful. I know this to be true. I know there’s a chance now. And it leaves a very bad taste in my mouth. For when I see that woman, I can feel her kiss against my forehead. I can remember how it feels and the tone of her loving voice.

For that woman, is my mother.