The Real Hero
War is a state of mind
It's 1993. In north of Bosnia a war is going on. The worst kind of war there is. People who were calling themselves brothers just 10 years ago were now in bloody fights. This is not a story about slaughtering, or hate, or dead people in front of children faces. Yes, it all happened and there are stories to be written. But this one is about my Grandfather and his courage. He is alive today and he is my hero. I've heard this story few times in pieces and I know it is the truth, but I never managed to hear the whole story because no one wants to talk about war: they start they talk and then they suddenly stop, look away: silent and weird. Then they say that we don't need to talk about war, there are so more happier subjects. The pain is that big.
The Real Hero
It is not a story about my grandfather as it is about justice, or injustice, sometimes it is all the same. Smell of blood is in a small village close to the one of the biggest fights in the war, Derventa. You can hear the shots from the hills of Motajica.
I was a little baby and I was asleep. Guns singing my lullaby. My grandfather was waiting his sons to come home. His sons were guarding the village few miles from home.
Few shots were fired close to our house. He ran out to see what is going on. It turned out that some local soldiers are drinking there and just shooting in the air because they like the feeling.
My grandpa told them to stop, his grandson is sleeping. They said OK.
He got back to house to see if I am still sleeping. But the moment he stepped in our yard the shoots were fired again. Drunk soldiers. He went back again and told them to please stop, his grandson is sleeping. They laughed and said OK.
Then they made my grandpa furious but he went back to house because he belived in people even there where you can't find one. But few moments later shots were fired again, and again just because they thought it is funny.
Then, he cracked.
He started to run furiously at them without any weapons, with his bare hands, like a wounded beast. Armed soldiers just got scared. They started to run with their weapons from a man who is embodiment of courage. The cowards who think they are something with their guns, with their fake power, ran away from a bare handed old man.
Every time I imagine that tiers come to my eyes and I
always ask myself
what would I do
if my grandson is sleeping.
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