Victory

Fighter jets zoom overhead, and I am startled out of sleep. Light dances in through the curtains as they sway in the slight breeze. More jets. The triumphant cheers and roars of liberated youth reach my ears and I softly get out of bed, tiptoeing to the veranda. It's early in the morning, and there're not many people around. I can just make out a parade marching in the distance, their slogans and chants echoing through the otherwise empty streets. It's quite cool this morning, a gentle breeze flows calmingly. I see the flags, newly put up on the surrounding buildings, fluttering proudly. It's hard for me to forget, even after all these years. Not that I tried really hard, but the memories have not been an easy burden to bear. I still wake up in the middle of the night sometimes, drenched in sweat, heart thumping wildly - only to be calmed by my wife, by a cooling glass of cold water, by her hand on mine. I close my eyes and try to fall back to sleep as she strokes my head, reciting a surah to keep evil spirits away, to let me sleep soundly. It's not easy to forget the sights of dead bodies, of friends and family mangled beyond recognition, of the smell of burning corpses and huts, of mountain upon mountain of memories and hopes and dreams, burnt to ashes, spitted upon, stained with blood. The marching of boots, of their rough rude voices, the screams of the women - they haunt my dreams, I see them and feel them everywhere, all the time. I feel like I lost something, like a part of me just broke, back then. My innocence stolen by the gruesomeness of what I had to live through.
Because I did live through it. I survived, I am here now, in my own house in my own country, surrounded by my flag. I go back to bed, where my wife lies peacefully, our son in the next room, his gentle snores bringing a smile to my face. I hear footsteps too, and I know my daughter-in-law is awake, and a quicker pattering of feet tells me so is my granddaughter.
I am not free from my memories, but at least I now know I have less to fear, and more to be grateful for. I am victorious, in my own way.