Journal #1: The Victim
It's been three days. My baby brother and I have been running for what seems like forever with only a small ration of food and water. It seems like my soul has left my body, and all I'm capable of doing is surviving and making sure my brother makes it. On the morning three days ago it seemed like any other day. However, it was not. I was making breakfast when all of a sudden I heard screams and gun shots. The soldiers had come. Of course I didn't know what they wanted at that time, but I soon found out. They were after us, the Mayans. Everything seemed like a blur. Women were taken, people were tortured, and my parents, they were killed. Right before my eyes. It seemed so unreal that at first, all I could do was stand and stare. When I finally got myself together, I packed some food and water and found my brother. He was in the bedroom playing with some toys when he heard the disturbance and came out. I took him and escaped through the back door, and we made our way to the mountains. Running away from a powerful government is hard. Especially when you're two children without parents, two orphans without a home, and two people with nowhere to go. All we can do now is hope for a miracle to happen.
Journal #2: The Aggressor
I really didn't want to do it, but I had to. On a morning in 1982 I was told by the general that we were going on a mission. A mission to completely exterminate the Mayans of a mountain village in the South. Many of my fellow soldiers obeyed the general's orders without any sign of discontent. They saw the Mayans as evil second class citizens who were working on a communist coup. I didn't, and I still don't. I grew up in a Mayan village, but I was orphaned when I was eight. Everything before that is history. I had no choice. I had to do it. For my family. We set out to the village. I felt nauseous during the whole march, fearing what was going to happen. When we finally arrived, my fellow soldiers went berserk. They gave no explanation to the villagers. People were shot, tortured, and raped from left to right. I didn't know what to do. That's when my friend spotted a Mayan trying to get away. He laughed and told me to shoot her. I couldn't. It was so wrong. I saw the look he was giving me though. It said, "If you don't do this, you know what will happen to you and your family." I had to do it. For my loved ones. *BANG*. It was done. I have had to live with the guilt my whole life. It will never go away. I don't want it to either. It is a reminder of what happened during the Guatemalan Genocide.
It's been three days. My baby brother and I have been running for what seems like forever with only a small ration of food and water. It seems like my soul has left my body, and all I'm capable of doing is surviving and making sure my brother makes it. On the morning three days ago it seemed like any other day. However, it was not. I was making breakfast when all of a sudden I heard screams and gun shots. The soldiers had come. Of course I didn't know what they wanted at that time, but I soon found out. They were after us, the Mayans. Everything seemed like a blur. Women were taken, people were tortured, and my parents, they were killed. Right before my eyes. It seemed so unreal that at first, all I could do was stand and stare. When I finally got myself together, I packed some food and water and found my brother. He was in the bedroom playing with some toys when he heard the disturbance and came out. I took him and escaped through the back door, and we made our way to the mountains. Running away from a powerful government is hard. Especially when you're two children without parents, two orphans without a home, and two people with nowhere to go. All we can do now is hope for a miracle to happen.
Journal #2: The Aggressor
I really didn't want to do it, but I had to. On a morning in 1982 I was told by the general that we were going on a mission. A mission to completely exterminate the Mayans of a mountain village in the South. Many of my fellow soldiers obeyed the general's orders without any sign of discontent. They saw the Mayans as evil second class citizens who were working on a communist coup. I didn't, and I still don't. I grew up in a Mayan village, but I was orphaned when I was eight. Everything before that is history. I had no choice. I had to do it. For my family. We set out to the village. I felt nauseous during the whole march, fearing what was going to happen. When we finally arrived, my fellow soldiers went berserk. They gave no explanation to the villagers. People were shot, tortured, and raped from left to right. I didn't know what to do. That's when my friend spotted a Mayan trying to get away. He laughed and told me to shoot her. I couldn't. It was so wrong. I saw the look he was giving me though. It said, "If you don't do this, you know what will happen to you and your family." I had to do it. For my loved ones. *BANG*. It was done. I have had to live with the guilt my whole life. It will never go away. I don't want it to either. It is a reminder of what happened during the Guatemalan Genocide.