from bad to worse

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: November 04, 2017

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Submitted: November 04, 2017

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He had reached. He stood next to a broken down tent, the sun directly hitting him, with sweat dripping down his neck. He held his baby close to his chest, patting her to get her to stop crying.

 

A sense of relief flushed down his body, it had taken 3 months to walk to the refugee camp and they were finally safe. However, he knew this was not going to be any luxurious life. He brushed back his baby’s ginger hair, his eyes glistening with tears, feeling the guilt of knowing his precious daughter’s life had to start like this.

 

He started thinking at the back of his head about the circumstances and issues he was going to face at the refugee camp, but had to keep reminding himself how lucky he was to escape the war safely with his baby.

 

The baby’s face was bright red like a tomato, hollering to be fed. The sky was now dark blue, with shots of lightning hitting the refugee camp.

 

Days, months went by, the same old situation. They had absolutely nothing to do the whole day, and the man started to get depressed and lonely, but he knew he could not show it to his baby.

 

He looked up into the sky on another average day in the camp. He squinted his eyes and held his hand out so that the wind touched the tips of his fingers. Suddenly, a man shouted “TORNADO”, and crowds of people were running for their dear life. He ran while holding on to his baby and watching the tornado coming closer and closer.

 

Breaking out in a cold sweat, he was losing grip of the baby as the wind was getting stronger. The baby dug her nails into his arms, bawling and screeching with terror as she was falling out of his arms. His legs were burning with pain. The baby slowly slipped off and the man was chasing her through the tornado, dust cutting his face and going inside his eye making his vision blurred.

 

Before he knew it, his baby was out of sight. He ran as far as his legs could take him till he collapsed on the stone floor. He fell asleep and woke up in the morning with a burning red eye and a throat on fire, but the search had to continue.

 

Five long years later, the man was still looking for his baby. He had lost everything in his life, and lost the one thing that he had left. He felt broken and in need of something to cure his pain. He felt defeated that he would never find his baby again.

 

He started to get addicted to prescription drugs, which started off innocently with a small cough, but made most of his depression and pain disappear into the thin air. He completely lost track of finding his baby, and forgot about her completely. Until, one dark and cold night when he returned to the refugee camp in need of shelter and learned the absolutely terrible and dreadful news that his baby had died on the day of the tornado.

 

This was the moment that the man broke down and could not take it anymore. He completely blamed himself for losing his baby and felt that he could never forgive himself or live with himself again. He started overdosing on pills intentionally, and was trying to give his life up desperately. He only had a few more years left anyway, and did not want to live them in misery and pain.

 

His last day on this Earth, March 28th, 1943, consisted of taking more pills, sleeping, and throwing up several times. On March 29th, 1943, Elias Mohammed passed away.

 


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