These are Dark Days


“Home is a distant memory,” I think to myself as I remember sinking into my feather-like mattress. I sigh looking up at the dull grey sky, my ears ringing with the ear piercing sound of ambulance sirens.

I curl up into a ball against a stack of wooden planks that are covered in ash. I feel a shard of glass pierce through my pale skin. My heart pounds, as I watch the blood trickle down my leg. It flows free and goes where it pleases, I stare at it enviously.

I raise my head above the planks and see a blurred figure walk past holding a gun. I duck down panting in fear. What more do they want I think to myself as I glance over at my mother’s body lying down, pale and dead. “These are dark times” she used to tell me. She said that the world is made up of the generous and the greedy. She had explained that we were being hunted by the Taliban for not abiding by the certain rules.

I can feel death’s presence beside me every step I take. It is so tempting to just give in and accept death but I know my mother would think badly of me for doing so. I carry my mother’s body to a nearby abandoned house and rest her on an antique bed in the corner of the first room and kiss her forehead warmly.

I walk to the main street and three Taliban soldiers rush to me with guns held facing me. My eyes start watering as I hear a man pull the trigger. I look down at my chest covered in blood and seconds later I collapse into death’s hands. I open my eyes and see puddles of blood surrounding me.

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