Continuation of excerpt... It was time for war

Now, no matter how neighbouring parents tried to hide their children from the growing tensions, they could not. The children knew, they listened carefully to the messages within the conversations of parents talking to neighbours in hushed and strained tones. The children perceived the danger correctly and talked amongst themselves of what might be.

'War,' one small girl mouthed slowly to another as if an acidic taste grew in her mouth.

'What will it be like?' another asked knowing she would not get an answer.

'I don't want war,' the first girl stammered.

'I don't think it will be very nice,' the other said to her.

'No, we have no idea what this will mean Shea,' she said with downcast eyes as she accidentally dropped her floppy doll into a pool of mud.

She reached down and grabbed hold of her arm, snatching her back to rest again on her own chest. Across the way, the rowdy boys played together and roughed each other up. How long would they continue to play in the same way, was the thought that ran through every glance.

For now, the day went on as it always had done and the usual routines did not cease. It would not be long until a new dawn would break and something ferocious and ugly would step through the door, place a heavy-footed step into their territory like an intruder in the back yard - your yard. After all, it was not their yard, it was not their land, it was not their territory, it was not their home and it was not their children. For a child, the nightmares and ideas of war could not compensate for the understanding of why and how such a thing should or could ever develop out of the night.

From the night shadows, these events would emerge that would change the life of a child forever. They would be led away, with or without their toys and games that they knew so well and held dear. The ones they played every day of the week - on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and even Sundays. Board games, ball games, floppy dolls, hard dolls, dolls with big eyes and teddies with small eyes. Boys and their games, the ones they invented even - even these - they may not play any longer. Not where they were going, not with what they would be doing, not where they would be led. From one world to another, the children would be led away and not by a flute and a dance. It was by a soldier and a weapon that they would solemnly follow without a word, or melody or toy.

Excerpt - It was time for war...

Imprisonment had been something Yirmey had come to know well like a close friend and he knew that war was hotly on the horizon. Even the people started to believe that the danger he predicted was now nearby and in hot pursuit. The pursuers would be like a swarm of bees that constantly chased them. The growing hum of the swarm that encamped around them was gaining strength and would ultimately release their sting. Thoughts of war swirled around in Yirmey's mind and at night, when he lay down, he tried to sleep but he could not. It was long into the night, on most nights of late, that he would eventually drift off and his body would shut down for some hours. He needed the rest and his nerves would grab hold of the opportunity to release their tension and unwind like a clock. It was here, in this moment of peace, that his mind would stop. The blood would flow freely through his veins and it was as if no danger existed. There would be no alarm and no need for high-alert during these hours.

Nobody wished for war and nobody wanted war. It was a war that he had seen long before its time emerged. He did long to prevent this war from overtaking the people that he loved but he soon discovered that no matter how much he loved, he could not necessarily protect the people for whom he had this passionate love.

Yes, Yirmey thought to himself about how it all began. Where the love began and where it would be defeated. It was here, in his homeland, and at his mother's breast that he had first heard the sound of it. A love so rare, so real and so strong. It was a pure love that his parents taught him and installed deep within him from a young age. From birth, he heard the songs she sang over him... songs of deliverance, songs of hope and songs about his people. His parents had a love for the land and for the men and women that no-one could impersonate or perform. It was here he learnt about his identity and a zeal for the Judahites which was enlarged when The Voice took on from there.