The Final Cry

Startriting

There were five of them. Five young men, full of dreams, clinging to life while stranded on a large, lonely rock in the middle of a raging river. The very rock they once stood on with hope was now their last fragile refuge — for the merciless floodwaters had surrounded them from all sides.

“Help! Somebody help us!” one of them screamed, his voice hoarse with desperation. “For God’s sake, save us!”

On the riverbank, a crowd had gathered — frozen, helpless, their eyes wide with fear and sorrow. But none dared to step forward. The current was fierce, roaring like a beast, threatening to swallow anything in its path.

“Call the emergency number!” someone in the crowd shouted.

“We’ve already called! They said they’re coming…” a young man in the crowd replied, his voice low and uncertain.

Time raced forward — but the raging river moved even faster. Every second felt like a lifetime.

The five young men were restless. They would sit for a moment, only to rise again, pacing nervously back and forth on the narrow rock, like trapped birds fluttering within a cage.

“Should we jump?” one of them asked, his voice trembling.

“Are you mad? The current is too strong! You’ll drown!” another snapped back.

“So what then? Do we just stand here and wait to die?”

“I don’t know… but jumping means certain death. Let’s scream for help again.”

Gathering whatever strength he had left, one of them cupped his hands and shouted across the water: “Is anyone coming? Will someone save us?”

“We’ve called the rescue teams! A helicopter is on the way — just hold on a little longer!” someone in the crowd responded.

But time marched on — another precious hour passed. Still, there was no helicopter. No rope. No rescue. Just the sound of the furious river and five beating hearts clinging to hope.

One of the young men broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.

“If I drown… what will become of my children?” he cried.

“Don’t cry…” another said, choking on his own tears. “I’m the only child of my parents. What will they do without me?”

“I’m the sole breadwinner in my home. My sisters will die hearing I’m gone…” said the third, voice cracking.

“Maybe… maybe help will come,” the fourth whispered, a flicker of hope in his eyes.

“Is the helicopter coming?” one of them shouted again, desperate, exhausted.

A voice from the shore replied, shamefully: “We called again… The helicopter is currently flying a politician over the flood-affected areas. Once it's done, it might come here.”

It was like a slap in the face — a sentence of death handed down with indifference.

The water had now risen even higher. The waves were no longer just wild — they were monstrous, crashing violently against the rock. The five young men now clung to it with all their strength, like children holding their mother’s hand in a storm.

“We’re going to die…” one of them whispered.

“Maybe not… maybe…” another muttered, still clinging to the impossible.

“When? After we’re swept away?”

“Is anyone coming?!” one of them cried out again, waving his hands at the people watching helplessly.

“They are coming... Please wait… Just wait a little longer,” came the same tired, hollow reply.

And then… it happened.

A monstrous wave, taller and stronger than all before it, came crashing down with terrifying force. When it receded, the rock was empty.

Silent.

Gone were the voices. Gone were the cries. The crowd stood frozen, staring at the now bare stone. Only the river remained — and perhaps, somewhere beneath it, five silent dreams, five unsaid prayers, and five unanswered screams.

And the help? It still hadn’t arrived.