THE AUTHOR'S TRAP
WORLD WAR III WAS CLOSE.
Very close.
Oromia, Ethiopia.
The world was still moving.
People still woke in the morning.
Coffee was still prepared.
Families still gathered.
Children still played.
People still planned for tomorrow as though tomorrow had made them a promise.
Somewhere in Oromia...
a mother held her newborn child against her chest.
The room carried the scent of a celebratory coffee ceremony.
Family surrounded her.
There was happiness here.
Real happiness.
But happiness was not the only thing sitting beside her.
The mother looked down at the child.
Tiny fingers.
Warm skin.
Soft breathing.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Alive.
She pulled the baby closer.
And quietly...
she began to whisper.
GADAA FI GADDOO
BLESSING AND SORROW
Hear my voice,
my little treasure,
you who have only just stepped
into this world.
I hold you against my chest.
Your skin is warm.
Your breathing is light.
You are my Eebba.
My blessing.
The blessing Waaqayyo has given
to this once-empty place within our family.
The air carries the scent of coffee.
A ceremony for your arrival.
A celebration of your life.
I look at your little fingers...
and I give thanks.
I look at your face...
and I wonder about everything
those eyes will one day see.
But when I press you against my heart...
another memory presses against my soul.
Because behind this warm moment...
I can still see the shadow
of the night that changed me.
The same home.
The same earth.
The same bed of straw.
Another child entered this world here.
Perfect.
Small.
Loved before there had even been time
to understand what love would become.
I heard that tiny breath.
I felt that little hand.
Only a few seconds...
Only a few.
And then...
the life I had just welcomed
was gone.
My joy became a silent scream
with no bottom.
So I cry now because you are here,
my beloved child.
But only half of these tears
belong to happiness.
The other half...
are old.
Frozen.
Waiting.
One child rests in my arms.
And another rests deep
beneath the roots of the Odaa tree.
How can a mother's heart contain
so much sky...
and so much earth?
Gadaa fi Gaddoo.
My greatest blessing.
My deepest sorrow.
Both singing the same lullaby
inside my soul tonight.
You will carry the light
your sibling never lived long enough to see.
You will run across the plains
those little feet never touched.
You will see mornings
those eyes never opened to.
But I will not imprison you
inside my fear.
I will not make your life
a monument to my loss.
I will give you wings.
I will let you run.
I will let you fall.
I will let you rise.
I will let you live.
But know this,
my little treasure.
Every time I rock you to sleep...
somewhere inside me...
I am also rocking the memory
of the one who left before sunrise.
Breathe, my beloved.
Breathe for yourself.
Breathe for the life ahead of you.
A mother's family is warm again.
Sii koo...
My little one...
Blessed was your path.
The child slept.
The mother continued holding the baby.
Outside...
the world continued toward war.
Nobody in that room knew what was coming.
And the reader...
doesn't yet know what they have just been told.
Some spoilers do not need to be hidden.
Sometimes...
the safest place to hide a spoiler...
is directly in front of the reader.
Give them the answer.
Before they know the question.
Give them the truth.
Before they understand what the truth belongs to.
Let them read it.
Let them remember it.
Let them believe they understand it.
And then...
wait.
Because this is not a spoiler.
Not yet.
It is a spoiler...
waiting for the rest of its meaning.
THE AUTHOR'S TRAP.
WORLD WAR III IS ALMOST HERE.
We'll see each other again...
when he arrives