Rating: PG-13

Genre: Adventure

Overview: When a young boy witnesses his entire village wiped out within a blink of an eye, he struggles to find out why would anyone do anything like this. Not only that but he too is suffering from the effects of the destruction of his village as he develops Cancer. With no family nor friends to take care of him, the young boy finds help from a particular doctor in the U.S. Ten years later he returns back to the dangerous site where his entire village was wiped out to see what he can find.

***

I was 12 years old when the great grey skies opened up releasing death from above. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was sitting by my favorite hangout spot by this great Oak tree on top of a hill overlooking my hometown. I was absorbing the cool moist air that blew in from the coast in the distance. I was about a couple of miles away from my house-I used to be able to walk that distance. Now I can't for multiple reasons.

Anyway I was lying on the soft wavy grass. Its bristle in the breeze played a soothing melody that made everything so peaceful. It was as if I could always count on the Oak tree to enable me to escape into my own world, where the war didn't matter. I was training to become a soldier, to fight for a cause I didn't believe in. This tree allowed me to relieve myself of my responsibilities.

I was thinking about the stories I had heard from the T.V. Stories of great machines flying overhead raining black boulders of hell on people causing them to look different, act different-be different. I glanced at the heavens above thinking how it would be able to release such a horrible foreign object. Then I noticed a single black raven flying way up in the sky. It was as if it was avoiding any close encounters with the land-we were infected with something it didn't want to catch.

Suddenly an immense cloud covered both the raven and the sun shielding the reflection of the dew of the grass from my eyes. I got up and stretched knowing it would be time for me to head back down to my house before my parents go nuts wondering where I was.

Then I heard a sound. It was a whizzing sound, like a loud whistle. The noise pierced through my eardrums and I searched for the source of the distraction. My search led me looking up. I saw a round black object falling from the sky. It was no bigger than the size of a small four door car. I thought it was just another one of those satellites crashing down onto the Earth's surface. Those pieces of crap fall everywhere nowadays. But a tail of smoke was surging behind the object.

When it collided with the ground a magnificent pool of light overtook my eyes. A force of wind pushed me back onto the grass. I was able to crawl behind the tree, huddled in a fetal position as the air became increasingly warmer. I was blinded for a couple of minutes-probably to spare me of the atrocities that soon enveloped. I felt a wave of heat and force penetrate through the bark of the Oak tree and into the pores of my skin. A massive headache soon followed along with nausea.

When the force stopped I began to feel queasy as I turned the corner of the Oak tree. I rubbed my eyes and tried to adjust to the glaring light and dense cloud of smoke that headed straight up the hill towards me. I had no other thing to do, but to turn and run in the opposite direction. But it was as useless as trying to outrun a tornado or a sandstorm in the desert. I made it down the other side of the hill when the hazardous smog filled my nostrils with the stench of burning rocket fuel and flesh. I was choking amongst the smog and then I fell to the floor. I was able to breathe better as I lied on the grass. I stood there for ten minutes waiting for the cloud to disperse, but it continued to linger like a swarm of bees you've tried to out-maneuver by going underwater. So I decided to crawl.

I crawled for hours with death hovering above me like a shadow. It tempted me to stand up and join the rest of my town. But I made it my will to continue on. Finally I reached an area where the cloud began to lessen and I could see a couple of feet in front of me. That's when I heard sirens and the confused voices of many. From the cloud of dust I emerged into a land of hope as countless EMT personnel stood at the ready in astronaut-looking suits. People wore facial masks or held rags to their noses and mouths. I was growing ever so weak when I finally reached help. One of the astronaut men came and helped me cautiously, as if I were of delicate value. I later realized it was because they were just as afraid as I was.

The next few days became a blur. I remember being transported to numerous hospitals, growing ever so sick as I went along. I remember vomiting up blood one night and felt all my strength pour out of my body. I had repeated nose bleeds. I was bleeding constantly from everywhere imaginable. They ran blood tests on me, checking my white blood cell count. They issued me potassium iodine tablets that were supposed to prevent me from getting thyroid cancer. Our country didn't have much of the machinery necessary to check for specific problems, nor help me out much. So, I was placed on a medical flight to the United States, New York City as a matter of fact, and treated at local area hospitals.

First I went to Presbyterian. They ran numerous tests on me. One of which was a CAT scan, or a Computer Aided Tomography scan. I was strapped down to this flat white bed as if I was taken hostage. As I lied down I was slowly absorbed by the massive white capsule that shot rays of light against my body. These rays of light were x-rays. By using multiple x-rays positioned at different angles around my body, a computer was able to retrieve three-dimensional images of my body. This helped doctors view a type of radiation known as gamma-emitting radio-nuclides.

Next they used this new technique known as nuclear magnetic resonance imaging-or NMR at Memorial Sloan-Kettering. This allowed the doctors to differentiate between healthy and diseased tissue within my body. This time instead of lying down on a bed, I was constricted on all sides by a circular white wall as I spread my arms as if I was being crucified. This technique not only scanned my cells but the atoms and molecules that make up the cell. It was that precise.

I was later transported to Montefiore, where the Montefiore-Einstein Center for Cancer Care proved to be the saving aspect of my life. Basic tests like blood tests and stool tests, allowed the doctors to conclude that I was indeed infected by cancer from the blast. I remember the day a group of doctors came in and told me what was wrong with me.

I was inside a cold room with a T.V. hanging atop the wall towards the center left wall of the room as you walk in. There was another door towards the back of the room which led to a bathroom. I was always alone in the room, sleeping in an automatic retractable bed. With a push of a button I can change the position of my bed. My room was always dark, I had the nurse close the curtains the minute I first entered the room. I wanted to be shielded from the world-the same one that made me this way.

A surgeon was the first amongst the crowd of four or five doctors to speak, "Hey son how you doing?" he tried to alleviate the situation. But I already knew that I was in trouble. The way all of them paused as if for a moment of silence when they walked into the room, had showed me that they found something wrong with me.

Then a young blond lady began to step in after I didn't respond to the surgeon. She smiled and knelt by my bedside rubbing my forehead as if she was checking if I had a fever-the same way my mother used to back home.

She didn't throw the bad news straight to my face; rather she slowly introduced new data to me, like teachers do to students in school. "You want some ice-cream," she asked me.

I nodded my head as she whipped out a bowl of ice-cream from beneath the bed. I could imagine how hard it would be to explain what had happen to a twelve year old boy with no one to take care of him. She tried her best though.

"Can you tell me anything you saw before you got hurt?"

In return for the ice-cream I decided to answer her, "There was a big black ball that fell from the sky and when it hit the ground-poof-everything disappeared."

She looked back at the other doctors who were shaking their heads in disapproval. She turned back around, "Yet you didn't."

"I hid behind a tree," I stuttered.

"What tree?"

"My favorite tree on top of a hill."

She was piecing the shattered parts of the glass together.

"Well then," she paused and smiled. "That tree saved your life."

"But, not my mommy," I said. After seeing the impact on ground zero, I knew that not even a soul would be able to rise up from the wreckage.

"Well that 'big black ball' gave you a big problem."

"I know." I didn't really know the specifics, but I knew that I was sick.

"You have cancer."

"What is Can-cer?"

"It's when to many baby cells are formed too fast that the mama cell has not enough food to give all of her babies. So they begin to eat their house apart and she loses all of her nutrients." I hadn't at the time understood a word she said, but now I am able to translate what she tried to communicate to me but had failed.

'Cancer is an illness that is caused by the presence of a malignant tumor that is formed due to uncontrollable cell growth leading to the destruction of healthy tissue.'

"Can you point to me where your stomach is?" she asked me.

I pointed towards my belly, "Here."

"Good, now right behind your stomach, you have a pink organ called the pancreas. It allows you to help eat food like that ice-cream there. Your pancreas is sick, and we are here to make it feel better. But, the only way we can do this is if you do everything we say. Can you do that for me?"

She looked into my eyes trying to hold an uplifted tone in such a deadly situation. "Yeah," I agreed.

I was diagnosed with Pancreatic Carcinoma, or Pancreatic Cancer. The Pancreas is a large organ that, just like the doctor had mentioned, is located behind the stomach. It makes and releases enzymes into the small intestine which help absorb fats. The pancreas also produces hormones known as insulin and glucagon, which help control the body's blood sugar levels. Ninety-five percent of people diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer won't be alive five years later. Some of the symptoms I had that led to the diagnosis were dark urine, fatigue, a yellowing of the skin and eyes, medically referred to as Jaundice, and pain in the upper part of the belly. The only way to try to relieve me of this disease was surgery. But first they wanted to do one more test-an abdominal MRI.

An MRI, or Magnetic resonance imaging, does not use x-rays, but rather powerful magnets and radio waves to create images of the abdomen. Again I was placed on a bed and inserted into a tunnel-shaped scanner, where I laid there for over an hour. Tons of images loaded onto a computer which they showed me later on. I saw a huge white tumor sticking out from the side of my pancreas like a boil filled with puss. That's what they were going to do, perform surgery to take out the tumor.

A couple of weeks later it was the day of my operation. Called a pancreaticduodenectomy, the surgeons were going to make an arc of an incision on the left side of my back. Once done, they will insert a tube with a camera attached to it and locate the pancreas. Once located they will figure out the exact location of the tumor. Then they will proceed to slice off the tumor and extract it from the body. The whole procedure takes 10 to 12 hours.

I was quickly sedated the minute I was transported into the operating room. All I remember was the doctors stripping me of my cloths and placing warm, oven-fresh blankets on the areas they weren't going to operate on or around. The room, however, was as cold as a meat locker. I was wide awake the minute I came into the room. They explained the procedure to me as quickly and simply as possible, and then placed the oxygen mask on me. My throat felt as dry as sand as the oxygen and the narcotics began to fuse in within my lungs. I was wide-awake one minute and the next I was gone-just like most of the people the day of the bombing.

During those 10 to 12 hours I had a dream. I was back at ground zero-in my home town before the blast. It was as if I was a ghost watching the events unfold in third-person. I was at my house, where my mother was washing our clothing on a wash board in the sink. My father was out in the fields tending the corn and potatoes. My baby sister was sleeping in her crib. My mother's hands were all wrinkly from the massive absorption of water and soap as she continued to scrub the grim and dirt off of our clothing. Suddenly she stopped and looked outside the screen that served as our window. She noticed my father all the way down the field running towards the house waving his hand signaling to stay inside. My mother couldn't help but to open the back flimsy door and step outside.

She yelled, "What's happening?"

"Get back inside!" my father yelled. Suddenly they both heard the loud whizzing sound screech against the sky's chalkboard of clouds. She looked up and death took over her face. She ran back inside and through the house. My father tried to catch up to her, but she was out. She went out through the front entrance of the house and ran up the road, dodging hundreds of people who were scattering to get to their houses. Some had no where to go so they simply knelt down before the black object, begging it for forgiveness.

Children were screaming and mothers began crying. All the men didn't know how to comfort their families. One family simply huddled into a circle with the youngest baby, no more than three months old, in the center. They formed a tent over it, as if asking the black object to spare their youngest and take the rest of them away. Tears flowed down to the ground as it began to rain on the poor baby.

A swarm of birds began to take off and fly south of the object. Dogs and horses went wild and began to jump fences, rushing into the fields and disappearing into the shrubs of the forest ahead. Even the plants seemed to cringe from the black god that dictated the end of the town's being. High winds began to pick up, as the trees began to cry its leaves, leaving a green pool of sorrows on the ground in which my mother stepped on to rush to the base of the hill.

She called my name from the base of the hill, "Anthony!"

I was too busy staring at the sky as I saw the object descending from the sky. She trudged up the hill continuing to call my name.

"Anthony!"

She slipped and fell. One of her slippers fell off, but she continued her long trek up the steep high hill. She kept on up the hill, but tripped again on an underground root of the sole oak tree on top of the hill. She lost her second slipper, but continued up the hill barefooted. Finally, she felt the blast, which forced her towards the ground for a third time.

The fiery heat raced towards her as she yelled one last time, gasping for air, "Anthony!"

Then the flames engulfed her and devoured her flesh like a cannibal. Beneath the ashes was a single piece of evidence that there was human being in this exact spot of the hill-a shadow.

***

Ten years after the bombing of my town on a small island off the coast of the Caribbean, I revisited the site of the blast at my own risk. The war was over and yet at the same time only beginning. War brings death, and death was brought to my isolated island, as far away from the conflict as it could get.

I was fitted with a white radiation suit. I was given a device that would act like a metal dictator, only for pockets of radiation. It would beep repeatedly if I got too close to a pocket of radiation. I was working for Doctors without Borders. I thought it was the least I could do after all, it was the pledges of doctors that saved my life, especially the blond doctor, who proved to be there for me for the remainder of my life-whenever I needed her.

I didn't go towards the center of the town, for it was significantly high in radiation pockets. I already had adverted Pancreatic Cancer, and I didn't wish to get anymore cancers. But, I was yet alone again as I trekked up the hill of memories leading up to the D-Day of my life. I stopped in my tracks as the radiation indicator detected large amounts of radiation up the hill. I was able to catch a glimpse of the top of the hill. I was beginning to feel weary as I began to be exposed to small amounts of radiation that I knew was beginning to take its toll on my body. I had to wrap up my trip down memory lane quickly.

The one thing I came for was sadly not there. The Oak Tree that saved my life-granted me a second chance-was gone. All that was left was the few withering roots beneath the black top of the hill that I felt with the soles of my shoes as I was hiking up the hill.

I sat down on the black grass. I began to think to myself how death can destroy everything that gives off life, from people to animals, and the Oak Tree. Nothing survived the blast, not my family, my people, my town, my hope. It was all shattered at that moment. The worst part of all was that it happened so fast. One minute I was lying under my Tree on top of the hill and now I'm lying on death's soil at the base of it.

I flipped over towards my side, lying as if expecting to see something on the other side. I glided my hands along the ashy ground and then saw a shadow lying against the ground. I studied the shadow and my memories. It looked just as helpless as the rest of this area was.

But, amongst the dark ashy soil, right near the heart of the shadow, an ant began to dig its way out of its hole. The yellow ant had huge greasy pinchers and looked as big as a beetle. But it was an ant-I was sure of it. Its yellow eyes made it seemed as if it had Jaundice. The critter however had survived through all of this, hiding for years underground, beneath the heart of the hill. The hill had saved its life, and had given it life and a purpose.

I got up, and was careful to avoid the only piece of life in this area besides myself. I took off my backpack and reached for a glass container. I gently motioned the ant to crawl within the container, and tried to preserve its life. At first it tried to bite me, but I pulled my hand back within a second and was tempted to squash the little thing. But I knew I would have to save this insect and study its effects on living in this area and how it had adapted to survive this nuclear fallout. Soon however it mounted its way into the container and I capped the container and stared at the ant as it squirmed around like a child. I placed the container within my backpack and decided it was time for me to start heading as I began to feel nauseas and the lurching of a headache tightening against my skull.

As I made my way back to my truck I looked at all the death around me, yet I had an ounce of hope as the smallest creature survived ten years within the heart of the disaster. The hill, just as my Oak Tree, sheltered the ant from harm. Now I was to take this creature home and contribute to the continuation of its existence.

Being surrounded by the darkness of destruction, I was infuriated at the destruction of my home. Tons of slowly deathly matter (from human remains to houses and plants) scattered across what once used to be a perfect place. I clinched my fist and thought about the ant. How in the world would this small thing survive but not anyone else? The people who destroy my home aren't even here trying to fix it up. A small feeling inside me wished for revenge, and my frustration was adding fuel to the flame.

The ant and I were mutants now in a world where people think they're so perfect. If this experience taught me anything, it was to appreciate the little things in life, because as the old adage goes, "anything can happen within the blink of an eye."

But that's not the only thing it taught me. As I looked at the angry ant, I realized that there was no ceremony to commemorate my village's destruction. There was no proper burial, no gun salute, no music to honor their lives. I guess if you want to get anything done, you have to just do it yourself.