Thursday, July 21, 2016

PSLE: Terror Strikes



The headlines screamed:  Terrorist attack kills scores outside National Stadium.   As I stared at the headlines, tears streaked down my cheeks as memories of what had happened came flooding back…

“Wow, Dad, did you see how Fandi kicked?  I want to be a star striker just like him!”  I spoke exuberantly.  “Yes, my son will be the greatest footballer and I will get to see it!”  Dad nodded furiously, trying to look serious and not to laugh.  I blushed as we made our way out of the crowded stadium.  We were at a soccer match between the Lion Bravo and the Cheetah Power.  Spectators were all marching out towards the MRT station, discussing the game and the players’ performance enthusiastically. 

As we crossed the quiet road, an ear-deafening ‘vroom’ disrupted the silence of the night.  When we turned around, we spotted an enormous white truck speeding towards the crowd.  Everyone started scuttling off like terrified sheep escaping from a ferocious bear. Chaos broke out.  Shrieks of terror sliced through the air. The situation was tumultuous!  Unfortunately, it was too late.  No one could outrun the speeding truck and men were falling down like bowling pins, lying sprawled on the tarmac ground.
 
For a fraction of a second, I stood rooted to the ground, stunned at the shocking spectacle.  It was a night of terror!  The truck continued zigzagging and steering directly towards the sea of people.  They were all frantically trying to save their loved ones but the unstoppable truck was trying to mow down the maximum number of innocent victims.    It was definitely terrorism on purpose! He was on a rampage!  Such atrocious depravity!  People were falling down like dead flies and their bodies were strewn all over the road as their crimson blood stained it red. 

As I stared in wide-eyed horror, I felt a sudden push from behind. It was Dad, pushing me out of harm’s way of the approaching truck.  However, at that critical moment, he could not escape in time. When I looked back, Dad was already crushed under the gargantuan wheel of the truck.  He was squashed like an insignificant bug.

“Dad!”  I cried aloud.  I could not believe my eyes!  How could someone be so wicked and cold-blooded?    My heart throbbed with intense grief.  In total state of distraught bemusement, I knelt down beside my dad’s motionless body and wept hysterically.  Heartbroken, I refused to leave him and run for safety.

That was a bad move.  The terrorist hopped off his truck and started spraying his bullets at the survivors trying to finish them off.  I tried to dodge but a bullet hit me. I slumped onto the ground, my head spinning non-stop as excruciating pain shot through my body in waves.  Finally, darkness overcame me and I lost consciousness.

When I awoke, I found myself in an unfamiliar room, swathed in bandages.  Mom was sobbing beside me.  My dad had passed away. Mom told me that a bullet had smashed my spine and I have become paralyzed from the waist down. I was devastated.  Despite the pain I was going through, nothing was more unbearable than the loss of my beloved father.  As for the villain, it was reported that he was killed by the police, his body riddled with bullets.  He deserved it!  

Despite my immobility, I vow not to be crushed by the terror of terrorism but to have an indomitable courage to triumph over such villainous wickedness. 



Image source: 
http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2015/11/14/16/2E70C67F00000578-3317776-image-m-132_1447516923153.jpg


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"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away."

Henry David Thoreau