Farewell Children, May You Find a Better Place!

               My son rides his bicycle, smiling next to me, uttering gibberish. He is singing a rhyme he learnt recently and now he has totally jumbled it. He giggles when he passes by. When he comes again, he notices my stare and looks enquiringly. I hold him in a tight embrace, a tear trickles down unknowingly.

            Somewhere in the land of enemies (or so are we told) hundreds of kids are killed.  

            I try to imagine the assassins. They would have planned it meticulously. Months ago they would have selected target; months ago they would have decided to slaughter these kids. During nights, or in the time of leisure when they not working hard for their chosen deed, they would have been with their family. Did their children recite rhyme in gibberish? Before leaving, would they have kissed their children on forehead, like parents do before dropping wards at school?

          They would have checked their ammunition, lifted their guns and started for school. Would they have carried one bullet for each kid? On reaching school, they would have taken positions, loaded their gun and started firing. Would they have smiled after hitting target? A small skull opened from middle, blood oozing and a white school uniform turning red. Bull’s eye! Bravo!

          I try to calm myself. It is a far far place. What it means to me? My eyes do not relent and tears start tricking in. I curse them from the bottom of my heart. My curse is as sincere as anything can be. I can feel the heaviness of heart of bereaved families. May you rot in hell! If this is religion, no man can have anything to do with it. I feel ashamed to be a fellow human being. We failed you kids, we seriously did. You deserved a better place.   

         My son senses that there is something wrong. He insists on playing with him. This time it is clay castle and I am asked to plan it properly. Trust me son, I will not fail you!