Hi, Mum, can you hear me? Martin has sorted my headphones because my hands are pretty busy at the moment – along with other bits of me.
I’m safe … listen … I’m safe. Record this, like my other reports from the front line. You are? good. This is a bit different but I want it recorded too because I still don’t trust the media. They’ve lied about these riots from the start. They’re lying about everything – what’s happening here and who’s doing what. It’s not the police breaking up race riots and stuff – everyone here is united against the police who are the ones stirring things up. The media have also totally clamped over all the strange things we’ve heard going on. This is one of those strange things.
I’ll update you: here goes…
Today was horrendous, the worst conflict I’ve seen so far. Our ambulance is wrecked. It’s hellish here, burning vehicles, smashed shops, blasts of heat as blazing fuel tanks empty and explode. There’s so much light from fires it’s a surprise when you look up and see the street lights are working and remember it’s the middle of the night. All is calm now though – well, apart from all the firefighters running around jumping over hoses and dodging puddles of fire. There’s a vehicle on its way; we’re about to be extracted.
I’m fine. Hit by one bullet … I think it was a bullet … but I’m … will you pay attention! I’m fine. Please shut up and stop flapping.
Petrol bombs, water cannon, rubber bullets, real bullets. It’s … well was … a war zone here.
But that’s not the whole story.
Mum, this is important: stop talking! There was this … what do I say? … naked old man who appeared – right between the rioters and the police. He was easily three or four times the height of any normal person even though he was stooping and bow-legged. Scrawny, wrinkled, big red beard, wild hair and a really pissed off expression – nothing could touch him, not fire or bullets.
The shout he made had everybody running for cover. It was like a volcano erupting, a bomb shockwave bending the air. Shit: bits fell from buildings, slates cascading like falling leaves. The ground rumbled. That was the blast which knocked our ambulance over. People spun and flew. It was beyond belief.
End of riot. I’ve never even heard of anything like it. It was like he sucked up all the fear and anger from everyone and let it out in one huge eruption. Mum, this supernatural stuff you hear whispered about is real. Believe me – I’ve seen it. Here: now.
Ouch! not so hard, my sweet joy.
What? sorry, Mum, I’ll get to that bit, hands full at the moment.
Right, so this spirit or demi god or whatever started touching casualties, totally healing them – starting with the burning officer we couldn’t get to. But with every touch he grew smaller and younger – from an old man right down through little boy to toddler.
Oh, little one, your whole hand barely goes round one of my fingers.
So many casualties, Mum, and I was one.
Yes, I’m fine.
So this god-thing ended up touching me and healing me. He crawled onto my chest but had totally spent himself and shrunk into a tiny baby. The gash in my thigh had simply disappeared.
Right, this is the bit … oh, little one, … you want my other nipple? Here, no, here … no, come on … yes … there … you’re getting the idea. You’re so cute!
Mum, I have the tiniest baby at my breast. Martin, the bloke I’m working with today, dived into the wrecked shops to get formula milk, but this little man doesn’t want it.
He’s feeding like mad – but from my heart and soul – and I love it. He’s wanting all my compassion and courage. I didn’t realise I had so much. He’s already a bit heavier. I think people are all joined in some weird way like we’re bits of the same thing. It means he can get everything he wants from me. He doesn’t need mortal food. Mum, he chose me! Me! I wonder if all mums feel like this? My head’s spinning.
I hope he’ll get the best bits of me. Then he may be able to do that whole riot-stopping thing again if he needs to. That’s my plan: protect him – make him strong again.
Can I come home for a while? I’m sure after today’s mayhem I can ask for a break.
I don’t know how to look after babies, angels or whatever, but I think I want to do it somewhere quiet with you.
©Gary Bonn 2013