Impression of Oppression (Chapter 1)

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: War and Military  |  House: Booksie Classic
Abraham, a journalist pursuing the hidden stories of the war in Syria, finds himself amidst poverty, famine, torture, and above all, death. What will Abraham uncover in the seemingly perfect city of Damascus? And most importantly, will Abraham live to tell his tales?

Submitted: September 06, 2016

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Submitted: September 06, 2016





Abraham didn't know how he managed to fall asleep in the car, in such an uncomfortable state. Well, it was more of an engine with wheels than a car. The motor was obnoxiously loud. The "seat" was wooden, with the only cushioning provided being his posterior, which had become sore. Everything was either overcome with rust or layered with a thick blanket of grunge and dust. Well, that was the best he could get on a, hopefully, round-trip to a warzone.

As the blur of scarce shrubs and dead trees slowly transformed into crumbling houses and debris, Abraham thought if his choice to document the hidden atrocities of the Syrian war was a wise choice. It wasn't the easiest to leave a first-world country, with all the modern comforts of food, entertainment, employment and security. Well, truth did come at a heavy price. 

After half an hour of staring in silence and contemplation of a plan of action, the vehicle finally came to a stop. 

"Can't go further than that, I've already risked my life getting you here," said the driver.

"Thank you," replied Abraham, as he opened the door to leave. It was surprisingly still intact, but bound to fall off in the near future. Abraham didn't even have a chance of closing the door, before the driver sped off, only to make a lazy U-turn, and head in the opposite direction.

"I guess it's on foot from here."

*   *   *

Abraham soon became tired, even though he'd been excercising his cardio for months. He looked around. There weren't many buildings as he was still on the outskirts of Damascus. A house which has been reduced to rubble over here, a collapsed building there. He kept searching until his confident walk became into an exhausted trudge. He needed some form of shade to keep him out of the rays of the scorching ball of fire in the sky. He had almost missed the tree, until his mind alerted him. It seemed the heat had reduced his reaction time by a good few seconds.

As he reached the tree, his feet shuffling, he immediately fell down, fatigue overtaking him. He fell into a fitful sleep. 

The first thing he noticed upon waking up, was his parched throat. His tongue shouldn't feel like leather and swallowing shouldn't be painful. He rooted around in his alice-pack, locating the water. He took it out and thirstly gulped down the warm, yet soothing liquid. 

to be continued

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