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Honorable Mention: Two Feet Away by CHAOTIC

The streets were filled with people, implying a Friday or Saturday night when no one was in a hurry to get home. The sky was black and if not for the lights from the nearby houses, my surroundings also would have been completely dark. I cannot even remember how old I was, maybe five or six at most. Yet, I will never forget the sight of my bruise covered legs ending in pink sparkly shoes, the cloud of dirty looking gas ominously surrounding me, and the live grenade which had rolled and stopped just two feet away from me.

Vieques is a small island west of Puerto Rico which has been recognized as one of the most beautiful islands in the world. This tiny island has been my personal paradise since I learned how to swim in its crystal clear waters. Its friendly citizens, Caribbean flair, warm weather, and bioluminescent bay, create an illusion of the perfect escape when life gets rough. But, not many on the outside know of the permanent scars that will forever remain on the island and its civilians. During the daytime happiness was palpable, or at least this was what the adults made us think. Once the children were put to bed, the real nightmares began.

The United States forcibly purchased two-thirds of Vieques from sugar plantation owners to use as a training ground for the Navy in 1941. They strategically acquired the two farther regions of the island in hopes of indirectly forcing civilians to completely abandon it, but instead most relocated to the unpurchased center and refused to leave behind their beloved birthplace. Anyone who resisted to leave their homes was forced to do so, often with the use of violence. The western shores were used as storage facilities, while the eastern shore was the ground for practice training, which included aerial assaults, amphibious attacks, naval bombardment, and various submarine activities. To this day, the U.S. government speaks highly of their "gentle treatment" of the islanders.

The first death the Navy had the decency to recognize as being caused by their neglect was a man named David Sanes in 1999, who worked as a security guard bordering their base. A pilot during an airline practice missed his target by a long shot and dropped two, 500 pound, live bombs just thirty feet away from Sanes instantly killing him and injuring two others. David was my cousin, and the first family member I lost because of the Navy's careless behavior. Prior to this I had lost a friend, Eulogio Acosta, also in an unfair manner. His father had taken him horseback riding and the horse stepped on a grenade which had been left behind, in an area unowned by the Navy, causing their immediate death. Multiple missed targets, fly away bullets, and other "accidents" claimed more lives, but not nearly as many as the two silent killers still lurking on the island: Napalm and Uranium. Cancer became so common the elders who had never seen such a violent illness, began to fear it was direct punishment from God himself. Still today, cancer rates are much higher in Vieques than those of the entire island of Puerto Rico.

Countless tragedies occurred, leaving our history covered with traces of blood, suffering, and oppression. As a child, it was easy to forget and act like the world was at peace. I was too young to remember David's or Eulogio's funerals, or even to fully understand I would never see them again. It was not until my first act of rebellion when I finally understood the severity of the situation. The citizens grew angry and united to fight the oppression from the Navy. My family, being the descendants of the founders of Vieques, were in the front lines of the fight.

My mother allowed me to accompany her to many of the marches and demonstrations during the daytime. Since I thoroughly enjoyed horseback riding while furiously waiving our flag, I insisted on going each time. Because of this, I did not think it was wrong for me to get out of bed in the middle of a sleepless night, put on shoes, walk a mile, and join my mother in the night campaign. My grandmother was in charge of my sister and I during the nights when the adults left for the protest site, which bordered the Navy's entrance to the camp. One night in particular, she put us to bed as usual, then retired to bed herself. I thought it rude to awaken her, so I decided to leave on my own. I knew the way perfectly, and Vieques was no place for criminals, so fear did not cloud my mind. When I finally got there, I was confronted with the usual: people chanting while walking a circle, countless signs and banners with peace symbols, and the typical leader with a megaphone leading the chants. Everything seemed the same as in the day protests I was used to, but thinking back, the men in uniform holding guns on the other side of the fence should have raised alarm, even in the mind of a child.

I always assumed my mom never allowed me to go to the night protests because she thought I was afraid of the dark, but that night I realized the truth. At some point the chanting changed. It was louder, bolder, and laced with more rage than I ever heard before. Fear began to creep into my mind. I tried to look for a familiar face, but more people came out of the houses nearby and joined the vast crowd. They seemed to gather near the gates, separating us from the Navy's officers. On instinct, or maybe I was foolishly too curious, I too moved closer to see what caused the change. Someone climbed up the fence. Night or day, no one had ever gone so near the fence. Unexpectedly, the armed men forcibly knocked down the person climbing toward them and a strange smell began to flow through the air in the form of an ugly cloud. The gates slammed opened and screaming began.

Due to my short size, I could not see anything past the columns of smoke, except for random flashes of people running in opposite directions. Finally, common sense flooded my mind and I began to run toward the direction from which I originally came. But I was too slow. I'd seen enough movies to recognize a grenade, especially when one was this close. Time seemed to stop like those cliché scenes from movies, except I suffered every second of it, dragging it out. The grenade was longer and thinner than a soda can, with red letters and a gray coloring all around. I remember feeling cold, certainly not from the Caribbean weather, but because I believed those were my last seconds breathing.

My father had been away for two months on business, and I suddenly realized I really wanted to see him again. I thought about how angered my mom would be when she discovered I had sneaked out, and then I realized she'd be too busy mourning her youngest daughter to be angry. I feared my grandmother would blame herself for my own stupidity, and at her age such feelings could have be dangerous. Then I thought of everything I wouldn't be able to do. One of my biggest dreams at that age was to swim around the entire island like the big kids did and, it was in that moment, I realized it wouldn't happen. My sister and I didn't get along because of the age difference, but even then I wanted to grow up to be just like her. I realized this wouldn't happen either. All these thoughts rushed through my head for the five seconds I stared at the grenade, unblinking, unmoving. As the time remaining until my seemingly inevitable death ticked away, I was suddenly lifted and moved away just as a giant cloud of smoke went off behind the stranger pulling me away. I didn't understand how neither of us died.

It wasn't until later I was introduced to gas grenades, which aren't meant to kill, only deter. There was a certain relief in knowing my life hadn't been in as much danger as I thought, but the experience and its effects remained the same in my mind. Being so young, the first lesson I learned that night was to never sneak out alone, and to this day, I have never repeated this mistake. As I grew older I realized a lot more about that night. I understood how ignorant I had been. Eulogio's mother seemed to morph into my own as I imagined her pain in my mother's eyes had the grenade been deadly. Even though we fought all the time, I saw David's sister as my own in the same way. A deep appreciation for my family and for every day I wake up, rooted itself in my head and never left. That night could have easily been my last. From then on, every morning after waking up and every night before bed, I made sure everyone near me knew the vast measure of their importance to me.

Witnessing the chaos which broke out that night left a slightly different impression. The brave façade the adults were painting for us shattered and the truth was finally evident. The unfair situation my people experienced taught me to abhor injustice. Back then I had been too small to make a change, but I tried regardless, and I still try today. I will never again allow myself to act as a bystander when an innocent is being mistreated in any way. Being hated by many for protecting a few is worth a lot more than being loved by many for harassing just one.

As we grow, most of our childhood memories disappear and we can only take the words of others as a reminder of what actually happened. My family can distinctly remember my first bad word, the time I spent the duration of the movie Titanic running around the theater, bored out of my mind, and the time I showed my middle finger to a priest. I mainly have memories of recent times, the only exception being the night I was two feet away from the grenade. Sometimes I wish that night was among the memories I've forgotten overtime. My rescuer never told the truth to my mother and neither did I so, had I forgotten, it would have been as if it never happened. Without this memory, however, I wouldn't be the person I am today and I wouldn't be fighting so fiercely for the person I hope to be tomorrow.

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This story is originally published here: https://www.wattpad.com/story/47059633-two-feet-away