Allan Smith, Tafelsig
Thoughts of an uncle on behalf of his five-year-old cousin:
I am five years old and my name is My name is no longer important, what’s important is that I am now an unfortunate and fortunate statistic to somebody.
I am a victim of a stray bullet intended for somebody whom I know not.
I’ve done no wrong, other than being a boy-child.
Doing what we do best, play, play, being happy and being loved all of the time.
And now doctors are frantically fighting to save my dear life.
As somebody with a gun turned my perfect world literally inside-out.
My tiny body is torn and battered, as the bullet intended for somebody penetrated and exited my body simultaneously,
Miraculously missing all vital organs, so I’m told. I’m disorientated, scared, panic is consuming me.
For three hours the good doctors did what they could to restore my body. They say the operation was a success,
Now I’m on my own with both my parents at my bed-side.
I must fight to live, but how can I fight. I cannot eat nor drink, they say I’m weak, yet somebody said, “He is such a strong little boy, he looks lucky to be alive”.
I am so confused, Can somebody, anybody just make things better?
I’m just so thirsty all the time. This thirst is not for me, it cannot be, I’m not a somebody, I am God’s gift to this world.
I just want to play and be happy, these pipes and tubes are awkward and they clutter my vision and my ability to move around.
Somebody, anybody please, please I beg of you, undo the wrong somebody did unto me.
And I pray that somebody won’t do this to you or yours.