Professor A. Johnson
November 29, 2010
River Road Scene
The low, dense fog rolled over everything around us, a shadow smothering my surroundings, matching the shadows that laid within me. I sat in that van, hoping against all hopes that what George Rutaganda had said was not true, but I knew otherwise.
At that exact moment, the van began to jerk and rock as if we had driven off the road and straight into the river. To Gregoire, who was driving, I said, “Woah Gregoire! What is going on? You have driven off the road!” I told him he was going to put us straight into the river if he did not stop the car; and so he did. I opened the door to step out and I found the answer to why the road rocked the van like it did: bodies.
Bodies covered that river road like ants and I had fallen right on top of them. I felt the cold, unresistant flesh of the bodies on mine. I could hear their last cry as their last moments of life lay permanently plastered on their faces. Trails of wetness still marked their faces like pure streams that cleansed away the pain and hurt where begging tears had fallen.
As I stood up, I looked upon all of those bodies that lie there, vulnerable and cold with the blood that no longer pulsed through their veins. I saw them all, the parents who covered their children, trying to protect them. They were all dead. Hundreds of them.
I now knew why that fog rolled like it did. It was trying to protect those poor people who were so unfortunate, trying to hide them from outside eyes. It was trying to smother that pungent smell of death that I now smelled in the air; the thick, metallic scent of blood. So much blood. The scent was so strong and permeating that I began to taste it in my mouth. The way you can imagine the taste of dinner when you’re so hungry and its aroma spreads through the house.
I was going to be sick. The sight of so much evil in such a small place churned my stomach. I was sick with...