I left another gathering in disgrace and called the worst of names. Fool, drunkard, disgrace, all hurled to hurt me and drive me away. Some have even called for me to be put in an asylum. Nobody has taken me seriously, and why should they? My claims are unfounded, unsubstantiated; plainly, it sounds like a story from a fairytale. 

 

Yet, you who have picked up this writing, consider what I say. What is said is true, don't turn away like the others. I beg of you. – Patrice Lumumba

_____________________________________________________________________________

 

I left the bar, another day and night of hedonistic glory. The bar was my home, my escape from the world. It allowed me to forget and just be happy. I was ignored, thankfully, with no connection to anybody. With friends that were also discarded by the world, the drunkards, people experiencing homelessness, and older men. Our days were filled with the flow of liquor, allowing us to be in constant merriment. 

 

It was another one of those days, yet this day I decided to take a walk. I had no reason; why would I leave the place where I was having so much fun? 

 

The reason didn't matter; I just started walking as if being pulled or willed. I stumbled on into the dark, drunken and mindlessly gazing at the stars—lamps shining in the hued congo night sky. The stars so enamored me I never noticed the quiet landscape switch from the hard gravel to the lush grass field. I only noticed where I was when the gigantic trees barred my view of the stars. 

 

In my drunken state, I didn't know what to do. I was sleepy from the stroll, and the sounds of the forest didn't make it any easier to stay awake. The forest's natural sounds, with the wind mingling with the leaves, the occasional scream of prey, with the sweet humming of the environment communally sleeping.

 

 

"AH"

 

A womanly screech woke me up. My eyesight at that moment was already bad, but the smoke, with its rotten gunpowder stink, made it much worse for me. I had no sense of direction; I could only crawl. This led to numerous bumps and me cursing myself in a matter I regret.

 

I finally found my way out and saw a sight I could never imagine.

 

A massacre is all I could call it—the screams of the French with the unintelligible cries of beings who had nothing.

 

“OÙ EST-IL?!”

(Where is it?!)

 

This came from a man in a white uniform holding a rifle to a woman's head. She had her child tightly, trying desperately to hide it from the man. Her tears ran down her face, mixing with her sweat as she screamed defensively.

 

 Yet this was not fruitful; the next moment, her brain was splattered all over her child, the one she was trying to protect. The child was startled by the splattered brain matter, alerting the man. He pulled out his machete and forcefully grabbed the baby from the corpse. He first decided to slit the throat to end its annoying screams and carefully chopped off the hands. Once he finished, he held them up proudly, then paired its hands with its mother. 

 

Once I finished viewing that scene, I realized I was starting to move. I thought it might have been a miracle, but I noticed a man dragging me by my legs. I at first tried to fight back, but he seemed to keep pushing me. I thought it was a comrade of that other man I saw and was being taken to their base or somewhere else, but I eventually gave up.

 

What was the point? I didn't know where I was; I just had to accept and hope I could find a chance to escape. 

 

I can still feel the lush grass transition to dusty and dry land, with the accompanying edgy rocks poking my tired body. I then felt a weird sensation; I felt free and light, but that only lasted a few seconds as gravity reintroduced me to the ground. I looked up at my captors but could only find a dimly lit room; the shadows initially made it seem like I was amongst monsters. But, as my eyes got used to the light, to my relief, I found only elderly folks with women and children huddled up together. Nobody looked up at me; they just stared down and made no noise.

 

“Matondo mingi na ndenge osungi ngai”

(Thank you so much for helping me)

 

I say this to the man, but just like the others, he remains quiet. I finally took a look at him. He's a large man, strong enough to fight off three other men. But the look in his eyes showed he had no spirit in him for anything. 

 

What felt like an hour passed, and I thought we might have finally survived. I laid down a bit, but then the sounds of a leather boot meeting the dusty ground were heard. Then, in a mocking tone, we hear,

 

“Nous savons où vous êtes”

(We know where you are)

 

“Nous en donner un”

(Give us one of them)

 

This caused some to get up in fright. Some began jumping and shaking; they were so frightened they started shaking and jumping. 

 

"Juste un"

(Just one)

 

This finally made everybody calm down. They all stopped and slowly turned. They had made their decision in an instant. I was the one to be sacrificed. Their arms reached out to grab me; I saw what they were. Their faces were translucent, their eyes dark and empty. With reddish-black streams emerging from their hollowed eyes, the tears made up of dried blood. The arms they used to grab me were inconsistent. Some hands that reached out to me were normal, yet some were stumps. The stumps were either healed, or they were fresh. The fresh stumps were bloody, with their bones in full view.

 

I scootch back, trying to escape, but bump into my savior. He stands above me and grabs me in a bear hug, ensuring I don't get away. The others get to me and push me to the place's entrance. There they throw me out to the men in the Uniforms. They rush back in, ensuring they don't have to deal with the others.

 

They tie my arms and force me to march. They made sure to show me their rifle, so I marched on ahead. I finally learned about these men; they were both black and white. They both joked and laughed together.

 

Eventually, we reached where they wanted me to go. It was a little camp with pots and tents. But their main attraction was their large cage. They took me closer to it, and it was full. They threw me in, locked the door, and walked away laughing again. 

 

This time, I got a chance to look at them better. They were the same people as before; they had identical translucent bodies and dried tears. Yet they also looked as though they were just dug up. They were a more depressing group than the one I was with.

 

The men had no shirts, while the women were covered. The children, on the other hand, were naked, resting with their mothers. Some women showed scars you receive from whippings, while every man in that cage carried a scar—some stank from the pus and diseases from untreated scars and cuts.

 

I sat back down; I could do nothing. I just hoped I could sleep and wake up from this nightmare. But not even an hour later, we hear two people approach and open the gates. They go straight after a child, but the mother fights back. She pulls and pulls, crying and yelling, but only receives a beating. They beat her until she eventually goes limp. One of the men drags her by her feet, belly down. They leave smirking, saying,

 

“Ça marche toujours”

(It always works)

 

They shut the door, leaving everybody tense and shaken. The women clutch their children tighter, and the men try to find shadows to cover them. This continued until my eyelids couldn't take it, and I had to sleep.

 

 

“AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”

 

Another scream to wake me up from this nightmare. I looked up and tried to understand what was going on. A rebellion broke out, and the prisoners were winning. The men in white uniforms were struggling, and I joined in. I thought it was my chance to be free. But what came next will always haunt me.

 

One of the men in white started having a seizure, and it was disturbing how much he was struggling to breathe. He was shaking and speaking incoherently. Spittle formed around his mouth, and he was rolling around as well. When he finally stopped, it was as though a monster took his place. He started running up on the walls of the cage and jumping around everywhere. He finally stopped and looked at us, and we could see the deformity on his face. A largemouth that took up half his face was growling at us. 

 

He then lunged at a man and ripped his head off. He lunged at a child crying and pulled him in half. He lunged at the mother protecting her daughter, ripped her face off, and then bit her neck off. He continued like this, lunging and mutilating bodies.

 

I had to do something, so I hid under a man whose chest was open. I covered myself like it was a blanket. The blood got into my clothes and eyes. I tried my best not to breathe; I wouldn't say I liked the smell. 

 

The screams of the people, alongside the incoherent growling of that monster, felt like an eternity. Eventually, it did end; though I was so nervous, I took a chance and finally peaked. I only saw a pair of legs walk in and stand over a gasping and croaking person. He stood there for a few seconds before I heard a gunshot. A cigarette followed this dropped to the ground. I then listened to the sound of a match being lit and it being dropped, trying to cleanse the horrible memory. I watched the pair of legs walk out; I waited until I was sure they were gone. I rushed up from under the skin blanket and saw how far the fire had spread. 

 

The fire had spread, and the bodies were charred, and the smell of dead skin being burnt raised bile and vomit out of me. 

 

I began to crawl; I was afraid that the men in white were still watching. As I crawled, the floor burnt my knees, I was bleeding, and it drove me up the wall to get out of there, yet my paranoia wouldn't allow me to.  

 

Once I reached the cage door, I reached out for the handle. I was so close I reached out to grab the handle, and my hands already felt the heat. It was much worse when I finally caught it and felt like my skin was melting. I should have pulled away but I was so shocked and desperate that I forgot to. 

 

Once I realized and pushed the handle, I rushed as fast as possible from the cage. I looked at my hand; It was bleeding, red, and smoking. I had to hold back my tears; they had to be saved for later.

 

I got up after a few minutes; I was alone, and nobody was near me. The nearest people were all dead and burning. I just had to take in what happened. The deaths, the cruelty, the fact I had no idea where I was. I just had to leave; I was free, so I ran. I didn't care about thorns or rocks. I didn't care anymore about the bodies; I just needed to survive and get away.

 

I tried not to fall over, trying not to be stopped and possibly be caught again. I ran and ran, ensuring to stay as balanced as possible. I ran and ran until I saw the light. Perhaps it was death. Finally, my nightmare was gone. I could finally be at peace and forget about what I saw.

 

But it was only a large truck, and I had enough adrenaline to dive into some bushes. I finally decided to stop, to stop moving, and finally to sleep. 

 

I had almost forgotten when I finally awoke, but the memories rushed back in. I became stressed again but ensured I was not near any trees. I decided to get some help, but I looked back. It was to see if anybody was there, but I just turned alone.

 

There it said clear as day on a large sign,

 

“Fermé! Ancienne ferme en caoutchouc”

(Closed!, former rubber farm)

 

It all finally made sense, the spirits, the terror, the missing hands. But I couldn't go back to look into it. I had to leave and heal. I finally promised to change, starting with abstaining from alcohol.

 

I made plans to tell the police…… but we all know how that went.

 

Campfire Story