The Red Karen tribe in northern Myanmar were delighted to see the mayoral convoy pass through the territory. Not because they felt any affection for the regional governor — a posh boy from a political dynasty whose dabs were all over their present predicament — but because here was their chance to break out the hardware. Three Kalashnikovs and an RPG bought from various middlemen in the months following the American rout in Saigon, lay rusting in an old tea chest, buried deep in the jungle. One way or another, they’d use it to strike fear into the hearts of their enemy.
From their lookout high in the teak tree canopy, they watched the vehicles glinting in the sun as they slithered over the hills like a metal snake. Halfway along, a raw wound, a red Volkswagen. The mayor had angled for a Lamborghini but this was the best they could do. ‘One day,” he thought. “One day …”
The men ran screaming from the bush, guns raised as they bore down on the heart of the snake.
By Anna Chen from an exercise set by Meet-up Write Together group.