I witnessed jungle justice today. They said he stole some electrical wires; they said he could be the one that stole the generator from the compound. By the time I got to the compound they had sat him by the wall, stripped from his waist above. I had never felt this useless, this helpless before. At that point when all my pleas were turned to naught, when all my efforts proved futile I realized a hard truth. Jungle justice would always be a part of our decayed system. And sadly, in every event such as this one, there has always been and there would always be someone who wants to stop it; someone who would be shunned by the angry majority, someone who would be charged out of the venue with the redness in his confronter’s eyes. One man can’t change the world.
I left the compound. The accused thief was still feeling the effects of hard wood fashioned with the anger for a thousand victims. His bare bleeding body still proclaimed the hardness of soaked wire. I walked back to my room.
I saw Chizaram; that jovial toddler who always smiled, always stamping the tiles of the corridor with his tiny feet. He cried today. His heart couldn’t understand what his eyes beheld. His elder sister stood by their door. She jumped at the sight of the beaten thief; her excitements caused her lips to reach the extent of a perfect smile. She is about 6 years old.
Chizaram’s mom took him in. He cried still.
Chizaram would turn 7 eventually. Sadly, his lips just might exhibit a perfect smile also; his feet might likewise cause him to jump at the sight of a beaten thief. Chizaram would eventually turn 25. Sadly, he just might be the one swinging the hard wood; just might be the one twisting the soaked wire.
Flash friction by;