Christmas 2016

Christmas 2016

Andrew and Abigail glowed. Their wedding two days before had gone so well. Both shy they had been dreading being the centre of attention. Would she look the part? Would his speech go well? Would the families behave   themselves? Would all arrangements run as  clock work?

But like some fairy story it went better than their wildest dreams. It was joy, fun and a little bit of ceremony as cream on top. Far from being a nightmare, they wished it had never ended. For a brief moment they had been centre of a comforting universe and it was a lovely feeling.

So  as they unpacked their bags in their hotel  in the centre of Berlin they looked at each other again, and smiled, again. Do you feel like going out she smiled. I thought we might go and have a look at the Christmas market. A bit corny, why not.

Over at the refugee camp at the old Templehof airport  while others busied about preparing their evening meals M, faced east and prayed. He had received the phone call that morning. Now was the time,this was his moment of blessed martyrdom. The pain of living in this unbelieving cess pit would soon be over.

Nice, France had shown the way. He went to a nearby lorry park. Rows of lorries with sleeping drivers were lined up. He knocked on one. The driver opened the door, two shots from his pistol and the truck was his. He had walked  the route to the market on Breitscheidplatz a hundred times.

Andrew and Abigail were  young lovers in the frosty lights of the market. Christmas carols faded into the night sky. The stalls selling their colourful gifts, enticing fast food , mulled wine and arts and crafts were a classic  back drop to a romantic  light opera. If all the stall holders and the crowds broke into a rousing chorus it would be no surprise. They giggled and touched. They tallied over a mulled wine. Its strength and smell felt good. They moved closer,life was good.

The lorry was going down Kantstrasse, M could see the spire of the Kaiser Wilhelm church,he was close, the killing fields of his home country were about to be exported. The man next to him croaked Waser Waser. He hit him again with the pistol. He went quiet. He swerved off the road and onto the pedestrian precinct.

It was noisy outside but quiet in the cab. As he started to feel the bumps against the lorry , the noise outside turned to screams, he could see the kaffirs running for their lives. Allahu akbar.As he drove he caught a string of lights .

Andrew just saw it,he grabbed Abigail, no horror just panic, the hungry whale ever closer.

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4 Responses to Christmas 2016

  1. itwonthurt says:

    This is of course a short story based on two unrelated facts. Not,not a report. Though, and this is the point,it could have been.

  2. Johan VAN DIJK says:

    At the village carol service last night, a packed church and its interior candle-lit, I was obliged to contrast this scene and its sentiments once more with the news of the past days : the mayhem in the Berlin Christmas Market. Consider the sentiments in Isaiah (and the core of the Christian Faith )with that of the ranting migrant high-jacking truck-driver, or the policeman in Ankara as he killed the Russian Ambassador : – the heinous ‘;allahu akbar’.
    Isaiah Ch 9 verse 6 : ‘Unto us a child is born; unto us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder; and his name shall be called wonderful, counsellor, the Mighty God, the everlasting Father, the prince of Peace…’
    Faith = belief, not certainty. Why kill others for holding another opinion (or none at all)?

  3. Wim Denslagen says:

    We can understand the killing by people who want to take revenge, but here it is not very clear which motives are hidden behind the attack. What was going on in the brain of the attacker?

    • itwonthurt says:

      The idea that only you and yours are right and everyone else is so wrong that they are beneath contempt and humanity. In liberal discussion it has become normal to accuse your opponent of being a Nazi and fascist. Those less sophisticated strap on a suicide vest.

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