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 – not just our staffing levels, and the waiting times in A&E – and they’re certainly not reporting the levels of poverty round here, let alone all the strange things we’ve heard going on. This is one of those strange things. It’s not about the riot but about the secrecy surrounding what’s happening to the world.
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 team on its way; we’re about to be picked up.
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 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. Shit: bits fell from buildings, slates cascading like falling leaves. The ground shook. It was the blast from that which knocked our ambulance over. People spun and flew through the air. 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 is real. Believe me – I’ve seen it. Here, now, well – a few minutes ago.
Ow! not so hard, my sweetest parcel.
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 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 totally spent himself and turned 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.
Mum, I have the tiniest baby at my breast. Martin 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 soul – and I love it. He’s wanting all my compassion and courage. He’s already a bit heavier. I just realised souls are infinite – he can get everything he wants from me. He doesn’t need mortal food. Mum, he chose me! My soul! I wonder if all mums feel like this? My head is spinning.
I hope he’ll get the best bits of me. Then he may be able to do that whole riot-stopping thing again – or something. 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.
©Gary Bonn 2013