I forced the breath into my lungs, hopelessly trying to stay calm while my heart is beating in every fiber of my body feeling it loudest in my throat and ears. Pressed against the wall the smell of gunpowder thick in the air, and the sporadic reverberations of gunfire and explosions were bouncing through the city walls. Some far away some very near. My fingers subconsciously run over the cracks and chips of the bullet riddled concrete.
I look across the opening. Only 20 meters between two concrete wall buildings. For a moment I daydream I had magical powers of turning myself into a mouse or a cat, small and less visible, so that I can ‘slip’ away unnoticed. I force another deep breath, but it only made me feel more breathless. I close my eyes and pray. God. Please protect me.
The cracking of shots erupts as I spring off the wall and run. “If you can hear the bullet it is not yours. If you hear it, it is not yours.” The words of my neighbour echo through my mind as a bullet zips through the air just missing my head. Then another. I run, my feet barely touch the pavement littered with shells and cracked by tanks tracks and explosions of Sarajevo at war.
I just turned 20 years old, I am young and fast. The snipers in the buildings across the street know this, they have seen me before. The weight of the buckets of water I grip in both hands slow me down, I feel like dropping them as the ground in front of me kicks up in a small cloud of dirt and fragments of cement where the bullet impacts. I did not hear that one, but seeing it is just as good. Almost there.
Another few meters and my family will have drinking water for a few more days. A few steps to reach the protection of the next concrete building. “if you hear it, it is not yours” words were echoing in my head. I duck trying to make myself smaller, hoping it matters. Five more steps. Two more. The safety of the building crashes against my body as I collapse gasping for breath. The smell of fresh gunpowder burns my nostrils so pungently strong in the air. With my hands trembling and my legs feeling detached from my body, I “collect” myself, take a deep breath into my burning lungs. The two canisters of water rattle in my hands as I prod my rubbery legs to begin the long but relatively safe walk back to our apartment.
My mind wanders.The shooters, do they laugh? Do they cuss? How do they feel about me making it for few more days? Did they let me ‘make it’ just to torture me again in few days? Are they ‘playing’ with people and their lives? Why? How can anyone find pleasure in human suffering. In a few minutes I will see the happy face of my family as we will have water to survive for a few more days. Thank you God.