Poor Kid

I watched it all from the backseat of my father’s VW. The truck was flying towards us, filled with Taliban soldiers.

“MUM! DAD! STOP THE CAR!” I scream. But it’s too late, and I know it. There’s the agonizing crunch as the truck hits the front of the car. I scream as the back of the car spins towards the truck, but the truck gets out of the way just in time. I’m still screaming as the back of the car comes to a halt.

Hastily, I scramble out of the rusty remains of the olive-green and brown of our old VW and sprint over to where the truck lay idle. The front of it is mixed with bits of cheap, rusted engine and bits of green metal. And blood. Lots of blood. My tears are cascading down my cheeks before I saw the worst of it.

Clothes. Bones. Blood. A steering wheel. I bend down and pick up my Dad’s favourite red baseball cap. My heart aches as I clutch it to my chest and I feel empty inside.

* * *

Two weeks after my parents horrific death, my older brother Aaqel, who is fifteen, tells me Mum and Dad had been saving up for a boat to Australia. They had enough for Aaqel, Bano (our golden Afghan hound me and my brother share) and myself (Fuad). On our way down to the smugglers’ base, a Taliban troupe jumped us. One seized Aaqel by the arm and threw him to the ground. Skin grazed of his back and blood spilt on the concrete road. I watched in pure terror as they roughly grabbed him, and began shoving and pushing him down the road, and dragging him when he refused.

“NO!” I screamed, “YOU CANT TAKE HIM! HES ALL I HAVE!” I darted forward and tried frantically pulling a soldier away from Aaqel, but he viciously pushed me to the ground, while another four others came and began belting me. Punching, kicking and hitting me with whatever they could get their dirty, blood-covered, stinking mitts on. Bano started growling. The Taliban soldiers came up to her.

“NO! NOT BANO! LEAVE HER ALONE!” I shrieked. I crawled over to the dog as the soldiers advanced on her, and wrapped my arms around her. One of the many soldiers with Aaqel pulled out his gun and, ignoring my screams and wails of pain filled protest, pulled the trigger. I heard Aaqel's death scream and I began shrieking and yelling, my heart almost stopping as his body slumped to the ground, head dropped lifelessly. Aaqel was dead.

This closer soldier with his gun aimed at Bano pulled his own trigger, just for fun to kill my last and only best friend. Bano wailed as loud as I was. I stared, tears of pain, screaming and sobbing as Bano body slowly went limp in my arms, until it felt like I was holding a ragdoll that was still slightly warm. Her eyes went glassy and her mouth closed. I started screaming curses, loud wails that tore through the endless dark, echoing back from the emptiness of the evil world. I heard Bano whine for the last time. I felt I had nothing left, no one, not even Bano, who, when she was given to me as a pup, was said to last me my entire life, protect me forever. I looked down, and, through my blurry tears, saw blood staining Bano shining golden fur a dark and angry red, taking over her beautiful light and turning it to a dark hole. I could almost feel the harsh pound of the bullets hitting me as they did for Aaqel and Bano.

I have no one left. No life. I felt as though grabbing a gun and ending my life would end the misery of the life I have, and thinking now, I see it would. I lunged forward, determined, stealing one of the laughing soldier’s guns, raised it to my head and said “Goodbye”. The last image I saw was of the dead bodies of my brother and dog. Had I lived, their glassy, empty eyes would have haunted me forever.

Thank Allah I didn’t.

……………………………...………………The End………………………………...........