Run. Run. Run.
As light bleeds into this endless plane, I run towards the rising sun.
I run from destruction, from my own pounding heart. Gun shots fire. Still, I run.
Pressed tight up against my chest, my baby brother whimpers. The tall grass grabs for his tiny, bare feet, and I clutch him tighter still. This precious cargo is all I have left; no more family, no village, no home.
“Mama,” he whispers, and tugs at my braid.
“I’m sorry,” I pant, racing on.
There’s no time to think, no time for tears. We’re refugees now, on the run.
“Mama,” his voice is louder this time.
“I know,” a tear rolls down my cheek.
I can’t tell him, not yet, not now. He’s so young, he won’t understand.
“Mama,” he cries, but I have no words.
All I can do is run.
***
Angry shouts and hammering footsteps grow soft as the men fall behind. Perhaps soldiers tire of chasing such worthless quarry.
The midday sun sits high in the sky when the only breath I hear is my own.
We’re alone, the thought pops into my mind, at last, they’ve given up.
My aching feet refuse to stop. Forever, I could run.
Run from my problems, run from the pain . . .
Mama always swore I could run for days.
Mama.
All adrenaline leaves my body in a rush that leaves me gasping for air; I can no longer see where I should step, but my feet fail care. The savannah swims before me in a blurry pool of thirsty grass. I stumble a moment longer before my cargo and I collapse, on the ground in a heap.
No, you must keep running, Asha—you’ve got a promise to keep.
Feebly, I attempt to push myself back up to my knees.
One inch, two inches . . . My baby brother chooses this moment to speak.
“Mama,” he shouts in my ear. He’s impatient. He isn’t even three.
“MAMA’S DEAD!” I scream, falling back on my arm.
There is no more fight left in me.
The boy begins to sob as if he understood my words.
“Oh, Rahim,” I murmur, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .” I stop. I can’t lie anymore—it’s true.
Helpless, I watch the memory unfold before my eyes, forced to relive each horror a second time.
It was still night when they came to burn our village and take our people, our homes; maybe they believed if they acted under darkness, the shadows would hide their crimes. How is it fair to attack when everyone sleeps, lulled by false pretense of peace?
Someone shakes my shoulders, hard. Mama, just five more minutes.
Smoke fills my lungs, then the gun shots begin—with each crack, I jump, wide-awake.
“Mama?” Rahim is stirring.
“Shhhhh . . . Mama’s here . . .”
With a fierce hug, she places him in my arms.
“Asha,” her gaze is solemn. I cough, shake my head, confused. “I love you, don’t ever forget that.” She kisses my forehead, pulls away. “It’s time now, you must go.”
I whip my head from side to side. “I can’t leave, not without you—I WON’T!”
“Yes, you will.”
She stands to usher me off, and that’s when the bullet finds its mark.
Her shirt grows red. She falls to her knees.
“NO!” I’m frozen inside.
A woman so strong, so selfless, so kind to all who knew her well—she crumples, an imploding star, a brilliant super nova.
“Run, Asha. Run!”
These are the last words that leave her mouth. I turn away.
Where can I hide?
Another bullet whizzes an inch over my head.
You can’t.
You must run. Run. Run.
***
I lie on my back concealed by grass, and watch the clouds float by. There is no sound but for Rahim’s raspy breaths; he fell asleep when he ceased to cry.
The sun nearly touches the horizon, and I have no thoughts for what to do for the night. Rahim must be hungry, but there is no food. I am numb in the fading light.
Then I hear it—footsteps crash nearby. I tense, now on high alert.
Don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t make a sound, maybe they’ll fail to notice you here.
Earth quakes beneath my head, and the thunder slowly grows louder.
I squeeze my eyes shut, clutch Rahim tight.
Cool metal presses into my forehead. An eternity passes in silence.
Please don’t, I pray, don’t let me die.
“Ehsan,” a rough voice barks across the plane; my heart jumps into my throat. “Did you find something there, or what?”
I blink, I stare, I challenge the soldier inspecting my face. Do you have any humanity left?
Unsure, he bites his lip.
Rahim stirs on my chest, stretches a tiny hand up to tug at my braid.
“Mama?” he whispers.
My own hand trembles against my leg.
“Ehsan?”
In a sudden swift movement, the young man pushes himself to attention. “Nothing here, sir.” He coughs, looking down at his boot. “Just a dead squirrel, is all, sir.”
“Well, then,” the voice is sharp, “you better stop wasting my time. Move on.”
“Sir, yes sir.”
I am a statue, perfectly still, until the two voices fade into the twilight.
“Rahim,” I breathe, “the Merciful. You saved us today, you did.”
I lift him up to watch his tiny face. Inexplicably, he giggles. “Asha!”
I roll to my feet with the boy in my arms, turn to nod at the sun, turn away, and run.
I am not running away this time.
Towards hope, forever I will run.
Run, run, run.
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