It was 102° farrenhite. The sun was beaming like a large stage light focused on an actor during a show. Hazel Plasma’s buttermilk skin was trickling with sweat. Her thick brows drenched as she walked across the Kandahar tarmac. Afghanistan, the place of war felt so deserted.
After collecting her bright pink luggage that she brought from the op shop back in Australia, Hazel was set to embark on the love journey of a life time. Who knew that a week ago in a small country town of Waga Waga, she would be serving her last cup of coffee. With the distant fire of a gunshot, Hazel Plasma’s mind came racing back to reality. As her petite body pulsated with anxiety, she thought to herself ‘Surely it would be that difficult to find a six foot four English bulk man.’ Chad London the man of her dreams was sent back to war six months ago. It was only now that the continuous flow of letters ceased. Hazel Plasma would write at the end of every week till blisters the size of melons would incapacitate her. Her love for him was stronger than a man who could bench press 110kg.
Walking along the dirt street, Hazels long straight crimson red hair was sticking to her back. Her mind wondering between the devastation that lurked the pavements and the dehydrating humidity.
“Why has the Australian government masked these inhumane scenes?” Hazel softly mumbled to herself. “Evidently there must be some way Australia could help these innocent civilians!”
Children walking with missing limbs, houses burnt down and infants merely the age of seven begging for food engrossed every corner, crevice and stretch of pavement. The ravages of war proved too much for Hazel Plasma as she raced along the street, stumbling her way upon an old run down tin shed.
With nightfall quickly approaching, Hazel decided to make camp. This shed offered shelter, warmth and protection from what seemed to be a very eerie night.
With her easy to pack sleeping bag set, Hazel Plasma reflected on her hopes of finding lover boy chad.
‘Did she totally misjudge the magnitude of this operation?’
‘Would Chad even be happy to see her?’
Were hot questions scrambling through her innocent mind. Just as she was about to get under the covers, she heard a loud scream. With fear for her safety, she hesitantly staggered over to a large metal door, the birth place for the screams.
Hazel peered through a small opening that had formed between the heavily barricaded door and the wall. From what she could tell, there seemed to be a number of Afghanistan citizens ranging between the ages of 8 years old to 30 years old. These people were restrained up with ginormous chains and were covered in massive welts. When she peered over to the left hand corner, she could see an army soldier whipping a man to the brink of death. He was demanding in a tone that would appear in children’s nightmares. “Give me answers!”
Hazel Plasma could not stand to watch these suffering prisoners of war be horrifically tortured. As she turned her back to devise a plan, the agonizing shrieks came to a halt. With fears for the worse, she reluctantly turned around and peered back through.
A weird sense of relief rippled through Hazel’s body. Instead of seeing tons of deceased bodies, there was only a little Afghani girl huddled up at the far back of the room. Hazel could hear the girl’s quiet sobs and pleas for help. She stood pondering her options for what felt like an eternity.
‘Could she just save the little girl?’
‘What about the other prisoners, would she be able to save them all?’
‘What about Chad London, how can she find him while looking after a little girl?’
With the conclusion that she would deal with the other problems as they came, Hazel used an old piece of metal broken of one the many shed windows to pry open the ajar door enough so that…