The Stranger.
A science fiction story.
science fiction, science fictions stories, sci fi, sci fi story, alien, ufo, space, space stories
Short Story : The Stranger.
By Prabir Rai Chaudhuri . All Copyright Reserved 2009.
I discovered this diary by chance, in a cave, near the
remains of the stranger who had taken refuge there to die far from his pursuers.
That day I was out on one of my usual Sunday mountain walks, when I came across
the cave and, as an amateur speleologist, I couldn't help but take a look.
There, a few meters from the entrance, I made my dramatic discovery. In that
corpse I recognized the stranger that the authorities had searched for days, in
vain.
I will not reveal the location of the cave, he is now dead
and his remains rest there, which I covered with stones to prevent insects and
other animals from destroying them and because, even if his culture was
different from ours, I believe that every living being has the right to a
burial.
When the fact happened, now several years ago, I had
followed the story on television, with bated breath and a certain anger that
was making its way inside me. I did not understand the attitude of the
government, its preconceptions, but above all I did not understand the use of
force to face a situation like that.
They were peaceful people, after all.
Perhaps there was a fear of mass immigration? We could not
have accepted it, and I was aware of this, but no one bothered to ask, to
inquire, to understand why those foreigners had come to us.
What were they looking for? Where did they come from? Who
were they? Is it possible that I was the only one asking myself these
questions?
But now the damage is done.
The government wasted no time and immediately adopted all
possible strategies to drive away the unwanted guests. And this meant only one
thing: armed troops to shoot on sight.
It was a massacre.
A massacre.
But fortunately one of them survived, at least long enough
to leave his memoirs and shed light on that tragic event. The wounds that the
stranger had suffered were mortal and he was given only a few hours to tell his
little story and the extermination of his people.
I translated his diary, written on what looked like a tablet
and which I found right next to the body. It was a long job, because I didn't
know his language and I had to learn it, thanks to all the material that the
government released after the extermination, and this took years. I could have
relied on a translator, but how much of the diary would have been respected?
The tablet, then, turned out to be more complicated than
expected, also because my computer skills are certainly not enviable. However,
I managed to understand how it worked and even transfer the texts to my old
laptop, which allowed me to print those pages.
I am now publishing the diary in its entirety and the reader
can judge for himself.
Diary
I am wounded and losing my strength. All my companions,
except me, were killed after a terrible attack. And I too will soon be gone. I
managed to hide in this cave, where so far no one seems to think of searching,
and I leave these memories so that one day the truth about what happened will
be spread.
Our ship was in trouble. We had been on a long voyage, and
had to weather several storms. We had suffered some damage, some repaired, but
some too serious. We could not find a port, so we landed where we could, where,
at least, there was room enough to do so.
The place seemed welcoming to us. The beach was deserted,
except for two or three individuals who ran away as soon as they saw us. A dog
barked at us, but then ran away too.
Not far away we saw a city and, behind us, that enormous
mass of water that leaves you breathless.
I told my companions to get going, so we grabbed our stuff
and set off along the coast, under a cloudy, grey sky and with the wind blowing
at us.
We had walked a few dozen meters when we heard the sirens.
At first we didn't pay attention and continued walking in the direction of the
city. Then the road that ran along the beach began to fill with people who
pointed at us.
They seemed really curious to me.
Their clothes were different from ours - one would not
expect otherwise - and their attitudes were... I do not know how to describe
them. Old-fashioned, perhaps. Yes, they seemed to me to be incredibly backward
people.
Was this the first time they saw foreigners?
I convinced myself so.
Some of my friends showed signs of nervousness, but I
reassured them. After all, we were not there with bad intentions. We did not
even have weapons, neither with us nor on board the ship.
What use would they have been to us?
I was thinking about this when the wind above us became
stronger and a deafening noise filled the air. We looked up and burst out
laughing.
It was a helicopter. I think that's how it's spelled.
Someone spoke into a megaphone and we continued to laugh.
Then they shot.
The first shells did not hit us, but they raised clouds of
sand around us. So we stopped, wondering why this hostility.
I waved to let them know we had arrived in friendship, but
they continued shooting on the beach.
We were shocked. And worried, too. What was happening?, I
wondered.
After a few minutes, one of my men pointed down the road.
Over there, amidst all those people who had gathered, now even more intrigued
by the gunfire, there were some cameras filming us. Someone was talking into a
microphone, pointing at us, and looking back at the cameraman. We were the
event of the day.
When we heard more sirens and saw squads of armed men
rushing down the street toward us, three of my friends—there were twelve of
us—panicened and tried to run. I called them back, knowing that this would
further agitate the squads, but they wouldn’t listen.
I saw them die one after the other.
The soldiers opened fire and hit them in the back. They shot
at unarmed people, who had committed no crime, except being frightened by all
that commotion.
It was then that tragedy struck.
My other remaining companions turned to me, all talking at
once in loud voices and I could not calm them down, nor hear their words. But
they were terrified and it was written in their eyes.
What could I do?
People on the street were shouting, the reporters – I think
that's what they called them – had increased in number and were trying to get
closer, but other soldiers were preventing them.
We had to make a decision, and quickly.
“I’m going to talk to them,” I told my friends. And I hoped
it would do some good.
They tried to dissuade me, but I saw no other solutions nor
did they have any proposals.
And that was the last time I spoke to my fellow travelers.
I moved and went towards the soldiers. The one who seemed to
be the leader shouted something to the squads and the men aimed their guns and
fired wildly.
I was hit in the side, but not seriously. I fell and that
was perhaps my luck, because the soldiers continued to fire at the same height
and those endless bursts of bullets arrived in an instant against my friends,
mowing them down and killing them instantly.
When silence returned, or rather when the shooting stopped,
I peeked out with one eye and saw the soldiers ready for another volley. Then
two of them advanced cautiously. I deduced that they wanted to check if anyone
was still alive, so I pretended to be dead.
They fell for the trap. One kicked me and continued with his
colleague towards the other bodies.
They seemed satisfied and went back.
And I took advantage of it.
I had spent years, in my homeland, perfecting the techniques
of camouflage. To move quickly and unseen. To hide my tracks.
And so I fled.
They barely had time to see me dart away, fast as lightning
despite my wound.
They shot at me several times and some of the shots hit, but
I managed to hold my ground and disappear.
At that point the manhunt began.
Before I found the cave, I hid in the vegetation. I heard
helicopters flying over the area continuously, I saw dozens of soldiers
patrolling the roads and the surrounding countryside, but they didn't find me.
Then night fell, but the chase did not end. I had darkness
on my side, however, and even though I did not know the place, I still managed
to keep them from getting close.
It was only towards dawn that, tired and exhausted by pain
and wounds, I found that opening in the rock and entered it.
I fell to the ground exhausted and lost consciousness.
When I came to, darkness had fallen again. Far, far away, I
could hear the roar of the helicopter as it continued its search. But all
around me I heard were the sounds of nature.
I looked at my wounds. In addition to the shot in my side, I
had bullets in my legs and back. Some had come out, but the rest were still
inside. I knew I had only hours left before I died.
So I decided to write down the last events, from our arrival
to the last moment of my life. Maybe, one day, someone would read this short
diary, I said to myself, and would be able to know our story, our journey at
least, and understand something about us.
Thinking back over the last few hours, I keep asking myself
why all this happened. What did we do wrong? What impression did we give to
those people to push them to behave like this?
Yet we were only trying to communicate. We wanted to help
them, since their technology was so primitive and these people seemed infinitely
backward to us.
We just wanted to talk to him about our land.
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