Innocence in the desert...

The sound of a rifle shot and the revving of jeep engines shattered the stillness of the evening. Men poured
from the jeeps, rifles drawn on the house in front of which the stood. The leader stood in the front of his
vehicle and called venomously into the night, "Take them! Kill them!"

A man, stood in the open doorway of the house, his white skin, and blue eyes contrasting with olive skin,
and dark brown eyes of his persecutors. He stood unafraid, but confused. Why did they choose him and
his family on this night? They were no threat, they had come to this land to give aid to the poor, to the
sick, to the weak, to help them. They had asked for nothing in return. He thought of his wife, cowering
just out of sight beside him, she had agreed to this, to put themselves in danger to help others worse off.
She had agreed because she knew as he did that this was the right thing to do, to use their skills to help
those that needed it most. He thought of his child, his son, asleep inside the house. The boy had been so
brave, so strong, adjusted quickly from playing on the green grass of their English home to playing in the
dust of the desert place. From playing with boys that looked the similar and spoke similar to him to playing
with children that looked wildly different with olive skin, dark eyes and speaking a language totally foreign
to him.

The woman crouched beside her husband, out of sight, terrified of what these men might want of them.
What had they done to deserve this type of persecution? She might have been terrified but she was brave,
lending support to her husband in this time of trial by being there. She wanted to run, to take her son from
the next room, cuddle him in her arms and run. Run back to where they had come from, to where she
knew they would be safe, to the green hills of home.

The leader looked at the man standing before him, defending himself with nothing, just waiting to be
destroyed. He laughed to himself, stupid Englishman... How dare they come in his territory, his space. The
poor were poor and the weak were weak because he wanted them to be that way. He was their leader, the
one in control. This was his turf. How dare they come and upset the order of life, how dare they try and
change things. He gave the final order to proceed...

The boy, awakened by the initial rifle shot peered from his bedroom window at the group standing in front
of his home. His soft blue eyes shone with curiosity. His 8 years of innocence prevented him from
knowing what was to happen, it prevented his fear. He frowned as he noticed that one of the men had
stepped into the horse corral he had built out of stones, the stones were now scattered, he would have to
start again tomorrow. He noticed that all the men were holding guns, but the guns were unlike the cowboy
guns he had, the toy weapons he used again the Injuns that threatening his cowboys. He watched in
amazement at the light and noise the guns made as they were fired towards his home. His amazement
turned to fear as he heard his mother scream, the first time she screamed his father's name, the second
time was a scream of pain, drowned out by the noise of the guns. He pulled back from the window, and
turning ran for the door. He paused in the doorway, seeing for the first time his parents, both of them lying
in the front doorway of their home. He turned on his heel and ran, he ran straight out the back door never
turning back. He stumbled, falling, scraping his hands and his knees as the first explosion rocked the house
behind him. Without turning to look he scrambled to his feet, and ran again. He kept running, out the back
entrance of the compound, and ran into the foothills that encircled the compound. He stopped running only
when it was too dark to see, too dark to go any further. It was only then that he turned and looked back
towards his home. The building was now a shell, burning brightly, lighting up the night sky. The other
buildings, the other homes in the complex began to join his own home. The flames joined together and
painted the night sky. The smoke bringing with it the stench of death.

A growling began behind him, he spun to face the new challenge, the tears blurring his vision. The wolf
that leapt at him was struck midflight, falling at the boy's feet. He stared at it dumbstruck, the canine
stench mixed with the stench of death and together they hardened the fear in the boy's eyes, turning the
softness to steel. The tears in his heart for his lost family froze at that moment. He turned to the stranger
that walked up beside him, the man who had saved his life. The man crouched down beside the boy, his
weapons (different to those of the men in the compound) banged together as he took the boy by his
shoulders, his dark eyes searching the steel blue eyes. The heavily accented voice questioned in English,
"Boy, what is your name?"

The dry steel blue eyes stared back into the dark eyes, and saw a kinship there, the same hardness, the
same lack of emotion. He spoke slowly and clearly, without the slightest quiver in his voice. "My name is
Victor."