[The following is an excerpt from Loung Ung’s amazing memoir about her experiences as a young girl who survived the Khmer Rouge atrocities in Cambodia during the late 70s. Here, young Loung is living in a large refugee camp in a zone recently liberated by the Vietnamese army. Unfortunately, the Khmer Rouge launches frequent attacks on the nearby Vietnamese base, the camp, and the civilians huddled there.]
By early morning it is quiet again. I can almost feel the shelter expand with air as everyone breathes a sigh of relief. Then, without warning, the whistle of a rocket flies near us and hits our shelter! The blast almost knocks the air out of my lungs. I reach for Pithy’s [a friend her age that she met in the refugee camp] arm, then jerk my hand back as my palm touches something wet and sticky on her. My stomach churns., I turn to see Pithy lying facedown on the ground, quiet and motionless. The top of her skull is caved in. A pool of blood slowly seeps into the dirt around her head. Her hair is wet and matted with small bits of a tofulike substance on her black head. Her blood and pieces of brain are still on my hand. Pithy’s mom screams for her, then gathers Pithy into her arms. I wipe her blood and brains on my pant legs. In a panic, I get up and run after Kim and Chou out of the shelter, away from Pithy. Away from her screaming mother. Away from the sorrow that threatens to take residence in my heart.
Outside, people are scattered everywhere, screaming and crying as they run in every direction, bumping and pushing each other. Kim and Chou hold hands and run ahead of me, yelling for me to keep up. We don’t know where to run to, we just run. Kim stops running and looks back at the shelter.
”I left behind the backpack [with food and a few personal items],” he yells.
”Keep running… I’ll get it and catch up!” I scream to him, and before he can answer, I am gone. I know he has to take care of Chou. Entering the destroyed warehouse, the thick smell of burnt flesh quickens my pulse. Black smoke obstructs my visions, stings my eyes. Stepping over slabs of concrete and parts of the wall that has fallen, I make my way to our spot. My heart drops at the sight of Pithy’s mom holding her corpse to her chest, weeping. Pithy is limp in her arms, her blood soaking into her mom’s blouse. So much blood everywhere. Then I see that Pithy’s mom is also injured. She is bleeding from her stomach and arms. Pithy’s brother squats beside them, urging his mom to leave. His voice quivering, he tells her the Khmer Rouge soldiers are crossing the river and will be upon them any minute.
Source:
Ung, Loung. “Khmer Rouge Attack, February 1979.” First They Killed My Father: A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers. Harper Perennial, 2017. 196-97. Print.
Further Reading:
ខ្មែរក្រហម (Khmer Rouge) / “Red Khmer”
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