Shadows of Hesitation

"Michelle, forgive me... forgive me… forgive me…" I repeated over and over like a mantra to calm her and maybe myself too. She kept rushing at me crying and pushing until we both fell, with my back hitting the grassy ground first. My mind was a mess, and slowly the tangled thoughts began to unravel. Michelle was copying Jess, using a blank bullet, and she was just trying to play a prank on me, while I wielded a machete. I was really intending to slit her little throat. If it weren't for my clothing getting caught earlier, she might have... my body shuddered with both fear and cold, holding her even tighter.

I might have killed her.

Both of my hands were on Michelle's back, hugging her tightly. I nearly lost her. Michelle continued crying in my embrace, no longer hitting but now biting into my chest, inflicting a new piercing pain. I just hoped this pain could redeem or at least alleviate my guilt. "Forgive me... forgive me… forgive me…" I whispered amidst Michelle's sobbing. This continued for a while, I lay on the ground, and Michelle eventually stopped moving on top of me after crying for quite some time. My hand kept caressing Michelle's head, offering her a sense of security and an apology for what I had done to her. I could feel Michelle's thin body, which now felt even thinner, cold, and trembling.

A warm breeze blew, and from afar, the sound of waves breaking and the rustling wind moving the leaves of the trees around my house accompanied the whispering sound of the grass. We both remained silent for a considerable time, and Michelle's sobbing gradually subsided.

Her cold, shivering body began to warm up again. "Why do you kill so easily?" Michelle asked against my chest. Both of my hands hugged her even tighter, and she further receded into my embrace, causing her to sob again.

I realized I had made a mistake.

My eyes gazed directly into the blue sky, where the clouds were still slowly moving to cover the blazing sunlight. The sound of the rustling grass and this tranquil atmosphere reminded me of several years ago when I was a young student in my village.

I am an orphan, the orphanage's owner, a man whom I've considered as a father just as all the other orphans do. We always sold our harvest to the city, and usually, it was my father and another male orphaned sibling that accompanied him. However, this time coincided with me wanting to buy a book and my sister wanting to buy some household items ordered by the orphanage's matron, so we were the ones joining him on the trip.

It was past midnight and chilly as we were traveling back to our village after shopping. By then, I had comfortably dozed off, leaning on my sister's shoulder. Suddenly, loud shouts echoed, waking me up, and our truck was forced to stop right in front of a fallen tree. This obstacle wasn't there when we left earlier. There was no storm, rain, or wind that could seemingly knock it over. Someone had placed it there, and now several people stood in front of us, illuminated by the truck's headlights, blocking the road with fierce faces and sharp weapons.

They were seasonal robbers who usually appeared during harvest time, looking to loot or rob the sale proceeds from the villagers. I was frightened; although I'm hot-blooded, this was the first time I encountered such an event, and clearly, my sister, five years older than me, looked even more terrified. She hugged me tighter, perhaps thinking she was protecting me, but I knew she was just pretending to be strong. She was far more scared than I was. Our father looked panicked and quickly took out a machete from behind the car seat, a tool we always had in the vehicle for cutting grass or bushes, and handed it to me, who was sitting in the middle.

"Protect your sister," he said briefly, looking at me firmly, as if saying no matter what happens, defend her. Some men approached and knocked on the car window with an axe, forcing him out of the truck. He took a deep breath and then promptly got out of the vehicle, shutting the door behind him, leaving just the two of us.

I was scared and unsure about what I should do with the machete in my hand. Before anything else happened, a bandit from my sister's side smashed the window and forcefully opened the truck door, dragging her out. My sister's scream jolted me, making me panic and shockingly uncertain about what to do. She grabbed my clothes, pulling me, wanting me to follow.

The option to brandish the machete at the bandit never truly darted across my mind; even if it did, I would probably be still wondering if I would actually strike him. Time seemed to speed up. I saw my sister fiercely fighting off that thief, one hand clutching, scratching, screaming, biting, and the next moment, that bandit swung his machete at her several times. Instantly, blood splattered towards me, and she screamed in pain while crying.

I saw my sister's blood flowing so vividly red and dark, accompanied by her tearful cries.

Suddenly, a gunshot echoed from behind the vehicle, and the bandits immediately scattered. Another vehicle, which happened to pass by, stopped right behind our truck. Two men emerged with guns, advancing to target the fleeing robbers, causing them to scatter in all directions. I assisted my sister back into the car.

My father quickly thanked the rescuers and then together, they hurriedly moved the fallen tree. My sister cried inside the vehicle while I felt powerless. Everything felt surreal; I didn't know what to do, my mind seemed to halt.

Inside the car, my father looked at me sharply, pulled out a first aid kit from the dashboard, and directed me to press onto the open wounds on my sister's left arm and thigh. Blood kept flowing out from the torn clothes and open flesh.

My sister cried, while I sat there, distraught with fingers covered in thick blood. My father drove the truck frenetically towards the nearest hospital, the vehicle jolting on the uneven road. Every passing second felt incredibly long - the flowing blood, my sister's cries, and my father's continuous honking to overtake vehicles ahead, all seemed to be in a continuous loop. After what felt like eternity, we arrived at a small hospital where doctors and nurses immediately attended to my wailing sister, her face pale and ashen.

My father and I sat silently in the waiting area. He didn't utter a word, but I could feel the intensity of his gaze piercing through me. If only I had used the machete he had handed me, my sister wouldn't have been injured.

His penetrating stare and this silence hurt a thousand times more than any reprimand could. After a while, the doctor emerged to inform us that my sister was stable. She had received over twenty stitches on her hand and thigh and would need to stay in the hospital due to blood loss. She was only calmed down after being administered sedatives but thankfully had no life-threatening injuries.

Inside the patient's room, I sat, watching my sister, wrapped in bandages, sleeping with a pale face. My sister, the gentle soul who never raised her voice at anyone, her motherly nature. I adored her, and she always comforted me whenever I was sad or made a mistake.

But what had I done?

I fled from the patient's room and hid in the hospital's restroom, crying with my still trembling hands stained with the dried traces of my sister's blood.

All this was my fault because I didn't dare to act.

Because of my mistake, the person I cherish had to go through all this. All due to my weakness and my inability to make a decision. If only that robber had aimed his machete elsewhere, more vital.

My sister could have been killed because of my hesitation.

I hate those robbers, loathe them, but I clearly hate myself even more for my hesitancy and inability to harm someone, thus causing pain to the person I love.

I cried, wishing I could forgive myself.

Since then, every time I see the scar on my sister's hand, I am reminded of my mistake. Indeed, that scar made me treat her more gently, but my hatred for myself and that criminal never diminished; it grew every day. From that moment, I never hesitated in making decisions. I'd decide as quickly as possible before the issue escalates and harms those around me, my family, or my loved ones.

I am determined to destroy anything swiftly, and anyone wanting to harm me or my family should be prepared to receive that pain in return, and I won't hesitate for a moment to do it. Even if I know I will never win, I will still deliver the hardest blow or the fiercest bite even if it means dying with it.

Decisions should be made as quickly as possible. Even if sometimes the risks taken might be greater due to hastiness, I have accepted it. As long as the risk is one I bear personally, I can handle it.

As long as those risks are no longer borne by the ones I love, I can do anything.

The robberies continued, with several vehicles ambushed at night, prompting villagers to start traveling in larger groups if they had to return late. Whenever I learned that someone was traveling to the city and would return at night, I'd try to accompany them, even if the folks at the orphanage sometimes disapproved."

I was waiting for that bandit, to rectify my mistake.