Adela Garcia
This story came to during a recent playing of Resident Evil 4. I was suddenly struck by the blatant racism of the game. This story is intended as a way of critiquing that issue.
Adela Garcia sliced through her remaining vegetables with ease. The broth was already boiling on the wood-fire oven beside her, and the delicious smells of carrots and chicken were already wafting through the modest cottage which she and her husband called home. Eugenio was busy down at the villiage, as he was most days. Under the direction of Mendez, the Villiage Chief, the small district had become a much happier community. Both the men and the women took it in turns to help tend the cattle and vegetable patches, and to help look after the children and occupy them with activities. Things were thriving in their small Spanish villiage, and Adela was happier than she could ever remember.
A soft thunk-thunk-thunk in the distance had been bothering her for a while now. Sound travelled easily in these hills so it hadn't bothered her at first. But the noise was becoming louder. And other sounds could be heard now, too. They sounded like yells. Soon, Adela could make out the the sharp clang of metal hitting metal, and then the growl of a chainsaw ripped through the air. The thunk-thunk-thunk had gotten louder, and Adela soon realised what she was hearing - it was the sound of gunshots.
Panic began to creep up on her. Eugenio should have been back a long time ago. Where had he gone? The broth was boiling hard and steam was filling up the room. The gunshots were louder now, just down the pathway. Looking out of her window she saw her friends and neighbours scurrying about, looks of fear and anger in their eyes. Suddenly, in the distance, she caught a glimpse of an outsider. He was tall and blonde, and was outfitted in a black shirt and pants. He carried several guns, one of them drawn. Grenades were strapped to his waist and a knife was buckled to his shoulder. Adela saw her neighbour, Irene, approach him, yelling at him to stop this maddness, this incessant attacking. But he aimed his shotgun at her head and blasted her in the face. Irene lay on bleeding and twitching on the ground, her head a mess of gore. Adela panicked. This man didn't care - he would shoot without reason or mercy. Praying that her husband was safe, Adela took refuge in the storeroom behind her, where she had a good view of her small home through slits in the door. She hoped that the man would wander past without coming inside.
To her horror, she saw the door to the house swing open. The man, an American it seemed, swooped in with his gun drawn. He looked about the room with disdain, his nose turned up as though her home were filthy. Adela hoped he would be satisfied with just a glance, but she was wrong. He stomped over to her cupboards and ripped them open, then rifled carelessly and needlessly through the dried food he found. He must have been looking for something. Then he saw a small box on top of the family drawers. No, prayed Adela. The family kept all of their precious jewels in there. They had no need to conceal them with the villiage under the rule of Mendez - everyone loved and respected each other. But not this American. He grabbed handfuls of spinel and velvet blue, and a special pearl necklace which had been in Adela's family for generations. Why did he have to do this so uncaringly? Why? Adela let out a small wimper.
To her horror, the American heard her. He swung towards the storeroom and drew his gun. Adela knew what he was going to do. She was glad to find that she still held the chopping knife in her hand. Clutching it firmly, she raised it above her shoulder, ready to attack. If this man was going to kill her, her friends and her family, she would not simply lie down to him and take this unjust punishment.
The man ripped open the door to the storeroom and Adela ran forward screaming, bringing the knife down sharply on his neck. He grabbed her hand and twisted it, sending pain up her arm. He then pushed her away and onto the ground. Adela hit the floor hard, the wind knocked out of her. As she struggled to get up, the American let off an entire handgun magazine into her back. Adela felt the bullets pierce her skin and embed themselves in her body. She tried to move but couldn't. She could only lie there quivering. The man approached, aimed for her head with a shotgun, and sent her brains flying about the kitchen so that they splattered accross the room with a soft squelching.