Escaping

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: War and Military  |  House: Booksie Classic


A girl named Antiya escapes her country, ridden by war, thinking about her past

Submitted: November 03, 2017

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Submitted: November 03, 2017

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Escaping

The boats were quilted dark, rafts,  of the types I have never seen. They were on top of the waves travelling, crests moving gently onto the rough beach, advancing into miniscule ripples,  splashing light on the people’s feet. No one needed them, this country lacked rivers.

 

The people in uniform orderliness, monoliths, unmoving, stood. Yet although there was a greatness to it all, as if they were all prepared to combat a greater evil, their face showed otherwise. Most were dusty and sooty, tired from the perilous journey, with grey brown grime, lifeless grins that curved downwards, eyes glossy, clear. No one dared to blink, they had to be quick and aware as caution was crucial to being alive in a country in such a state. The full grown adults, on the first hand, had hollow eyes filled with less life than the others. The elderly were confused, yet there eyes were full of life. They had not received such a shock for a long time. The children were in the worst states, shriveled up, scared, holding onto their parents.

 

The lines reached out into the ocean water, yet never really went in as if scared to venture further. This scene was alien. Were we, the dotted lines, waiting for someone? Was this, to us in eerie black clothes, a funeral. This is not. Yes, this wasn’t. We are trying to escape.

 

Why were we escaping? I wanted to stay back in the Holy Land, our ancestors beloved land, dirtied by conflict. Why do we have to leave? Mum did not want to leave too, yet dad insisted.

 

It had started on a warm mellow afternoon. I was cleaning the plate, doing my chores, looking at the horizon covered at the bottom by a crusty yellow replica to they sky. My arms were starting to get sore. Why make me do it? Why not brother? Why not him? As I was engrossed in my own “contemplation”, the red radio, previously playing soothing classical music turned into a broadcast for a message. A low resonating solemn voice spoke out:

“Now for some urgent news, anti government forces are starting to appear throughout the country, war is imminent, it is recommended that everyone should find safety and shelter, and await the government to deal with this issue.”

 

My parents appeared, growing animal, staring yet no hostility, faces open with emotion, we knew what they were thinking.  Antiya, get in with your brother, they were leading us into a into a cupboard, descending down, down deeper into fading darkness.Go in, just listen to us, the soldiers might come for us the softer voice of mother, dulcet, so what? WHAT? I was not clear of the situation, my brains muddle, eyes spinning, as if I could hear the sirens of struggling trembling within my body. War. What was war? The anti-Assad's rebelled, and now the conflict is descending into war. My Dad, in his stern voice, softly shouting and defying those powerful countries we dared fight. We learnt about these countries in our classroom.

 

You see this, Mr Saidi said in a geography lesson, this is China, and the one above is Russia, above, and the one of the far left is America. America has brought the world to accept Democracy, what I think I was. Any other system is not as good. You know what that means right? You would understand if you grow older, and read books. Mr Saidi is secretly an against the government, we should be wary.” Mr Saidi had disappeared before, before the war.

 

“Get on the boat!”

 

A man was yelling at the rest of us to get on the boat. Remembering had led me into holding up the line. An embarrassed, red angry flush ran across my face. I traipsed onto the boat, filled with passengers, strangers.

 

I listened to him, and so moved on accordingly. I sat near the middle of the raft, not being to see anything, can’t see what they are seeing, the shrinking of the land into two dimension. I was a gold fish in the vase, only able to see the moving blue and white silk up above. Soothing, windy to put me at ease, but a rooted subconscious had told me to stay aware, aware. It was in the light morning, and I had just woken, everyone was asleep, even the person in charge was, trying to get the blur out of my eyes, I saw a dark grey, glistening black, and flashes of bright light coming out.

 

Looking in the past, remembering the natural phenomenons, I dug up a horrifying knowledge. Storm, this is a storm, stronger than the rain Mr Saidi, the one who seemingly knew everything had said. I shouted abruptly at the person in charge, and after a while, got him in his fullest attention.

 

Water, from the frivolous sea, flew into our faces, and the raft owner inexperienced, did not know what to do, the approaching storm above. The waves got rougher, and rougher and then even more rougher, stirring up and down, and so much that I fainted away, as I grabbed the black straps on the side of the raft, looking onward, to the people pushed out of the boat by the waves, drowning, before even going in the intimidating waters, agonizing in pain.

 

I woke up to see whether anyone was around, phew, my parents were safe and sound, my brother too. It seemed that some people were nowhere to be found, I thought I could even hear the voices of the lost drifting in their killers. My mom face looked softer than before,

My dad, who had told me to come in, despite me be angry, looked less calm though. Excitement. His face was stuffed with it.

 

The boat ride was only a few days, out of the long time we had to walk to the ferries. We had to sell most of our possessions, to seek out a better life. Yet, I was also sad for those that could not make it. The shore came up shortly. People, little dots, were waiting for us there. Standing still, as if mourning for the dead. “We finally reached land!”

 

There was a joyous celebration among the little of people we had left. We saw them more clearly, and could make out that they were all wearing the same uniforms. We went forward. They were holding something. We still went onwards. SHOOT! sounded, throughout the barren land, in front, ridden by a crusty yellow, bullets whizzing through the painting like scenery. “TURN BACK!” It was too late though, as I look backwards, my mum and dad were in a state of extreme shock, yet they pondered for a while, then smiled at me. And my brother. CONTINUE!

 

 

 


© Copyright 2018 Jeffrey Song. All rights reserved.

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