Jonas was exhausted. He hadn’t slept all night or for the past three nights. Last Monday, an intense day of bombings destroyed his shelter… and his nerves. No roof over his head, no food, and no electricity meant no way to communicate with his family and coworkers and tell them he was alive.
He had his dusty backpack, and his camera as his only companions.
Discouraged, he glanced at the misery and cruelty around him and decided not to take more photos. Anyway, he had no means to send them. Besides, he felt that at the other end of the line, his bosses and editors were already tired of his stories about a long war with no end in sight.
-You have to send us something new
Something new.! -he thought- Here every day, there is something new. People die with different names and personal stories. Dramas unfolding each day are too poignant because they are happening to real people, ordinary people like any of us. But from far away, you only can see the dust and the debris, and you don’t look at the people because those images are too disturbing, and the editors usually discard them.
So here I am with my life on the front line for what? If my stories and pictures don’t reach the public back home, don’t disturb their comfort too much.
Jonas sat down on a pile of debris and saw two blocks away a building standing untouched by the bombs. It was a hotel. He made a last effort with heavy, unsteady steps to reach that place. Please, God, let there be water, food, and electricity!
Thomas, Jonas’s brother, woke up worried in Italy. It was a gorgeous day, but his mood was dark. There was already a week without news about his brother, a war correspondent in Syria. He made a cup of coffee and turned on the computer to check the mail and the news.
His sad eyes suddenly shone, and his mouth opened in a wide smile. In his email, it was a message from Jonas. Hey Bro, I’m alive. Sorry for the silence of the last few days. My building was bombed but I’m OK, and I couldn’t find till today a place with electricity to charge my laptop. Things are rough here, but you know I’m rougher. I’ll send you news as long as I have juice. Be safe and don’t worry about me.
-Don’t worry about you!- thought Thomas. That’s an impossible mission.
2 thoughts on “Impossible Mission”
Yeah, but this is how many war reporters feel. I have known several during my career as a journalist an had deep conversations with them.