GilThis is the second part of my story, The Lonely Wolf. Please would you correct my mistakes.
I cannot remember precisely when I started howling, but it must have happened early in my childhood. Maybe it was when I saw my mother leaving our house and never returning, or when I understood that I was going to die alone in this world, without friends and family around me. I was still a child and had to confront the harsh reality (Which "harsh reality"? Either - "the harsh reality of the world around me", or, "the harsh realities I faced", or something similar), which is difficult to deal with for mature people, let alone a child, who could hardly understand the society around him. From the world of toys, innocent games, fairy tales and tenderness, I was shoved into the cruel world of grownups where irrational hatred replaced love and where two people, who once were infatuated with each other, now tried to harm each other, becoming the worst of enemies. My sister and I became pawns in
thethis dangerous game in which the two players did not care if their own children became the major victims of their separation. I would walk the streets watching families enjoying their time together and I knew I was never going to experience such happy times, because neither my mother nor my father waswere willing to compromise. My mother took my sister with her and I stayed with my father. It was an agreement that turned my sister and me into two strangers, who would never (again - they probably felt affection for each other in the past) feel affection for each other.
It was at that time when I would go to the river in the afternoon when nobody was around and try to find comfort in the peaceful water. The river became my mother. Her waves caressed me and filled me with tenderness, giving me the feelings my biological mother did not bother to show. Her banks became my cradle; her willows and plants a shroud, which protected me from the elements. Later, when people saw me swimming for hours, they could not understand my happiness; they could not understand the child enjoying the company of his mother, playing with her, talking to her and revealing
herhis secrets to her. Many years later, when the war in Bosnia broke out, and when I, as thousands of others, were forced to flee the country to save our lives, I went to the river for the last time to tell her goodbye as children usually do with their mothers. It was a sad day, although it was warm and the summer sun was shining and the water was sparkling. A few boys were kicking thea ball on the grass, and I asked them what had happened withto the men from the neighbouring houses. “They are all killed,” (Since this is speech anything is acceptable. A more common way of saying this is "They are all dead", or, "They were all killed".) they told me and continued to play as if nothing important had happened. I felt such a pain and wanted to let out a long howl but felt ashamed of these young boys who had somehow survived the massacre (Were you ashamed of the boys, or were you ashamed of howling in front of the boys?). The previous year at the same time, this spot was teeming with young people playing cards, chatting, laughing, flirting, listening to music and dreaming about thea bright future. Now theytheir bodies were rotting somewhere, awaiting the end of the war and special forensic teams, whichwho were going to dig them up bone after bone, tissue after tissue and compare them with the DNA of their families.
I touched the water only once and it felt cold. I had to hurry and be careful, because the war was still going on. If the soldiers stopped me on the street, I knew that they would never let me go alive. This was not an ordinary war but sheer madness, which turned human beings into beasts without consciousness, governed only by hatred. I wanted to howl all the way, but I forced myself to keep my mouth silent. I knew that soon I was leaving my father and this town forever and that I was never going to experience happiness again. I knew that the moment I became a refugee something would die inside me and never come to life again. About 60 hours later, I was going to end up in Sweden, a country that
didhad not participated in any war for hundreds of years.
TO BE CONTINUED