The Island

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: War and Military  |  House: Booksie Classic
Two brothers, alone after devastation, in the middle of the Iran-Iraq war. 1980. And they both need to survive.

Submitted: May 10, 2015

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Submitted: May 10, 2015

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1980, Iran-Iraq War.

Yasin's brother kept shouting but he couldn't hear him. He could only see his mouth excreting sound and filling with terror and the bullets grazed by his face and embedded themselves in the sandbag-walls of their Iranian bunker. Yasin reached desperately with his feet saving his brother a few meters away by getting a boy to help him move Sauliq. Sauliq cussed and calmped onto his arm as if it were going to fall off in the brisk movement. Yasin thanked the boy and sent him back to the window to watch for more gunmen on the horizon. 

 

1979, Iran. Pre-Iran-Iraq War. 

Yasin hurriedly crawls through the moleskin curtain into his family tent.

The gunshots rounded through the heavy desert air as Yasin set off to the Iran border to trade some coal he dug out just on the border of Shahroud. Dead. Dead. Dead. His mother was dead. His mother who raised him and her brother alone in the Maranjab desert. His heart was pounding. His lungs heaving and his eyes throbbing, his heart sank to an all time low. His brother slipped out from the darkness and cried out in anguish. They were now alone. Their mother was gone. Their bread-winner and love-giver. Yasin walked forward to get a closer look at his dead mother. His dead life. His brother walked into him, falling into his soul - their darkened hearts now colliding and in a brotherly-manner they sank to the bottom with each other. They were at the bottom. The deepest and darkest part of the ocean in their hearts. Yasin's head was spinning and the carpet was bleeding with love for the darkness. Sauliq whimpered. And then he waled. His funeral soul would someday be overtaken by death and maybe that would be the answer. Yasin let his hand to the floor where he lay earlier in the day. His face was wet with the waling waves of ocean dust. His fingers shivered and Sauliq sifted through to the floor. The sand blew through the front of the tent and bladed down their razed tears. The moon glided through the sky and suddenly Yasin wanted everything to disappear. Except Sauliq. He wished the moon would reposition itself somewhere else in the galaxy and that the stars would be shot down.

1980, present. 

Yasin screached his inner voice and cried his outer. Sauliq couldn't die now. Never. He would save him. Sauliq was disappearing and he couldn't actually do anything. His mind was pounding again and his heart bleeding from desperation. His fingers went cold and his face went warm. Yasin moved Sauliq's head onto a brick next to the wall. His blood raced through his veins to the floor. Both of theirs did. As Sauliq's eyes faded, Yasin had the ocean engulf him. Sauliq screamed a sentence to his own dismay. It was a sentence Yasin had never thought would be stuttered out of his dying brother's mouth. The blood ran deep and was seeping into the crevices and dust. Dust to dust. And deep into Yasin's soul where blood boiled and went ice-cold simultaneously. The end of the earth was upon Yasin as his mind faded into the ocean floor. He was lost. Gone. And as to reassure Yasin of his immediate and heart-heaving discovery

Sauliq cried with a smile on his face. "I killed our mother". 

 


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