Journal

Journal Entry: Dragan

I’ve never been on a plane. But I’ve seen one. It carried my wife and son to Italy. And as much as I know they’re in a better place, I can’t help but wish they were here with me. Ever since the war started, life has been about survival. Comfort has become a dream. I’ve been living with my sister and her husband, and it’s not the first place I would want to be. But as they provide me shelter, I provide them food, we are essential to each other. I can hardly remember what life was like, before the war. It seems I’ve gotten used to crossing sniper-infested streets to get water. Before the war, the worst thing that could happen to you if you tried to get water, is you’d slip in the kitchen. But now. . . . .  I don’t even want to think about it.

Today, I saw it happen. An innocent soul just walking along the street, only to promptly collapse, with the sound of a gunshot. As I scrambled to safety, I began to wonder, why? Why are the men on the hills terrorizing the innocent people of Sarajevo? Do they hate us? I believe they think that WE hate them. Well, we do now. Taking a moment to calm myself, I started taking a different path, when I noticed a figure on the street, with music emitting from him. I wanted to get closer, when I noticed where he was playing. It’s the marketplace. Where the mortar fell. I decided to avoid the risk, and steer clear of that street. It’s one of the most dangerous in the city. Continuing, I arrived at the bakery, when I noticed my friend Miodrag, who I haven’t seen in months.

“Miodrag!” I exclaimed.

“Hey, Dragan, how are you?”

“Physically, fine, but mentally, not so much.”

“Why?” He asked. Miodrag was always curious. Whenever something happened, he would have to know what it was. It was in his nature.

“Well, as you might know, my family’s gone.”

“Oh no.” said Miodrag with a tremble in his voice. “Were they, you know. . . .”

“No, no of course not.” I chuckled. “They escaped the city, and left for Italy.” I guess that when such a fate as being shot arises, being away is a much better option.

“Oh, do not fear, friend. When this war ends, you will be reunited. Trust me, I know.”

“I hope you’re right, Miodrag. How’s your family?”

“The usual. The kids play board games the whole day, and every week or so, they watch around 10 minutes of cartoons when the powers on for a bit.”

“And Gordana?” Gordana is Miodrag’s wife. She and I had never quite had a very friendly relationship, but I would be glad to hear she’s OK.

“Fine. Did you hear about the mortar fire?”

“Yes. That’s terrible. Those innocent people, just waiting there to buy food for their families, just killed, like that. It’s horrifying.”

“It is, isn’t it.” Miodrag looked at his watch. “15:00.” He said. “Best for me to be heading back right about now.”

“Alright, maybe I’ll see you around.” I smiled, and with that, Miodrag left.

            When I came back home, my sister and her husband were watching the TV. It seems as if the power has come on, and they’re going to make as much use of it as they can.

“Dragan, come here!” they yelled.

There was a man talking on the TV.

“And due to the severity of the blast, UN personnel and helicopters will be coming to the city to help the injured.”

“Do you know what this means?” asked my sister? “The fighting might stop! UN can help us!”

And as excited as they were, I knew this war wasn’t ending anytime soon.

Reflection

            The reason I chose Dragan’s perspective, is because he is a civilian whose life has changed so much since the war. Dragan’s life before and after the war are so contrasting that I felt his point of view would be the most interesting to write a story from. This is also the most likely reason, that Dragan is vital to the story. In it we have various types of people trying to survive in the war. Kenan is a civilian, who is trying to help himself and his family survive. Arrow is a fighter, who is trying to liberate her city, and Dragan is a civilian who has had to part with his family, and still has to try to survive in the bloody city. As for the cellist, we don’t hear much from him, though he may be he “hero” of the book.

           The time I chose, was shortly after the mortar killed twenty-two people waiting to buy bread. I felt that after this time, there would be lots of actions, and emotions that would give the writing, and the journal entry more feeling. After all, it is the event that causes the cellist to play.