Tori

It was hot but it is always hot. My feet were strangely cold; they sensed my fear better than I, and found a way to be cold even in extreme heat. The dust of sand settled and I hovered next to my mother as we hunkered down underneath a pillar of concrete. I was just close enough to feel her muscles tense each time a new bomb touched the Earth. If it was not a bomb it was the fire of a gun or the blast from a tank, the sounds so loud and close that our hearing could no longer distinguish between the three.

We know fear. My father was stolen from our home in the dead of the night and the night was dead with bodies of my relatives slouched up against the corners of my home. Their faces were swollen with the stench of death. My mother was raped on our table made out of wood. I remember the rice falling in slow motion from the bowl on the table to the floor. She did not scream or cry out, but I knew her tears were quietly spilled from her eyes as all she knew was taken away and her son was forced to watch. That is the day I started crouching behind things to seek safety. I have not stopped since.

I did not know why such terror fell upon our family. My mother does not speak of it and I wouldn’t dare question this because neither one of us wishes to go back there, but we are afraid to go forward too. Danger is everywhere. It comes in all different colors. At first it was red, white and black, but now it is red, white and blue.

It is hard to choose between two evils. There was a time when all I thought about were my teachings. I worked hard to see a smile on the face of my mother and father. There was a time when pride spread across their faces in a way that made me feel as if I could change the world. Now I just hope for silence. There was a time when the laughter and noise that came from the rooms of my house made me feel complete. Now I would settle for not falling apart.

Strange how quickly things can change. I have talked to soldiers. My mother does not know this but when she sent me from our dim, stone-walled shelter to find food I found some soldiers drinking water bottles on the street corner. They looked strong to me. Their uniforms were a chameleon’s skin. I walked up to them out of thirst but they did not recognize this. I was surprised my syrupy, cotton mouth voice did not give me away.

“Hey boy be careful.” One called out.

I walked closer because my thirst for that bottle overcame me.

“You should go back with your family. It’s a hot zone here.” The same soldier squinted as I cam closer while his fellow soldiers looked away into the busy and chaotic city.

I did not know what a hot zone was but I wanted to let this soldier know that all of our country was hot. “It is always hot.”

The soldier nodded. “Go back to your family kid.”

“My name is Mohamad and it’s just my mom and I.” I tried to use proper English. I wiped the dust off my dirty clothes before asking what I came for. “Can I have some water?”

The soldier looked me over and I hoped I didn’t look too dirty. He smiled slightly. “Sure. Here take a few.” He leaned over to his buddies before turning back to me with four bottles of water and a bar that almost looked like candy.

I said the only thing I could that I thought he would understand, “Thank you Sir.” I turned and ran quickly before my luck betrayed me once again.

I got yelled at when I returned to my mother. She was convinced I stole from the soldiers. She yelled and yelled about how she could not stand to lose me. I did not explain what happened because it is dangerous to know that the enemy you fear might be your only hope at eventual peace.

That day when I hovered next to my mother she got shot. It hit her in the chest I think, but I do not know because I ran like a coward. I felt that last pulse run through her body in a jolt against my arm and I ran. I wish I had stayed but if I had I might have died too. For a chance to say goodbye to my mother I would have died and I cannot forget her last words to me before it all happened, “No matter what we must survive. All is not lost if we can survive. Mohamad be a good boy and survive. Peace is silence and anyone involved in war knows this. Do not forget it.”

She spoke above the noise of war. She spoke beyond evil and good. She spoke from her heart before her heart stopped beating, but war will never stop as long as the hearts of others beat; common knowledge that is not thwarted by hope or prayer or experience.

I do not know if it is the colors of red, white and blue or the colors of red, white and black that took the life of my mother. If I still understand sorrow, I am sure this is what it would feel like.

Now I crouch like an animal in the the concrete shelter that somehow became home. I sometimes try to stand upright, but my back has become too accustomed to crouching.

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zaoshang

Very nice story. Well written and well built. I think the ending gives value to the whole text:
I like the multiple meaning of "not being able to stand upright."

Brilliant job!

P.S.
-might sound better with a comma: "No matter what, we must survive."

Tori

Ah thanks so much!

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LiberalDem

WOW! This was an amazingly poweful story.

Wonderful description. You have painted the scene so perfectly that I can picture it in my head.

I love little details like this...it makes the story seem so real.

Such a perfect reaction, and something so intensely saddening.

Possibly my favorite part of the story.

I think this would read better if you describe what "it" was. I guess we can all assume it was a bullet since the sentence before said she was shot, but I don't like the use of "it".



Not too wild about the repetition of "survive".

I thought the story was brilliant. I really enjoyed it. Thank you for sharing.

LiberalDem

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"I am a work in progress dressed in the fabric of a world unfolding offering me intricate patterns of questions rhythms that never come clean and strengths that you still haven't seen." Ani DiFranco (The Slant)

Tori

Great suggestions and I'm going to go about the task of weeding the story shortly. I do agree with both your edits and will work with them. Thank you!

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