My short stories tend to have a humorous slant. This particular story however cannot.
3 million people (my brothers and sisters of the world) were murdered in this country in a terrible genocide lasting 3 years.
I visited an infamous place this morning where 17,000 people were horribly and unjustifiably executed. In the early 1970s a longan fruit orchard became a place holding 129 mass graves. Tne regime that killed them wanted to eradicate anyone with intelligence and replace them with subserviant peasant workers.
I didn't want to experience the killing fields of Choeung Ek, but knew I had to, it would otherwise feel like denying the country (and world)its sad history. This was a demonstration of how low the human spirit can descend.
I anticipated being disturbed by the sight of several thousand human skulls bludgeoned by rifle butts and other blunt instruments. However, I was unaware of the many children that were murdered there too. The thick trunk of a still living tree was a place where children were put up against and tortured before being thrown into a pit. Writing this I am on the verge of tears.
Ironically I could hear the happy laughs of children playing nearby on their weekend.
Another tree housed a loudspeaker where music was played at high volume to drown out the screams of those being executed.
I wandered somberly, hat in hand, around the mass graves, most of which still have pieces of clothing half-buried in the ground. Bones are visible, protruding from the earth everywhere. I was happy to be alive but sickened and angry at what occurred.
The area was far smaller than I had imagined. So many bodies crammed into tiny oblong pits. The place feels barely touched, except for a large memorial spire, which is how it should be - a place for respects and a reminder for future generations.
I pray there will never be a re-occurence. (but feel that I am being naaive.)
