Syria

A story told in a first person perspective of a young girl living in Syria named Jacqueline.

When I was only four we had to practice running away and holding our breaths for long periods of time. Growing up in Syria, I thought I’d never see the day where the skies were clear and my friends and I would go out and play in the fresh green grass rolling around and laughing. I built myself a safe place in my mind where only I and a few select people could go. Everyday when the sun came up and went down I said: “I love you.” To everyone just incase I would never see them again. At night we traveled by foot to find food and water. We would walk for miles; my hands bled, my legs were scarred and my feet ached, but, I knew I had to do it to survive. Smoke was in my lungs, my hair was frizzy, I had cuts, bruises, and soot covering my face. My mom once told me that my eyes used to shine brighter than the stars, but, as the attacks began, they lost all the shine that they once held and was replaced by dust clouding over them that were dull and help no sense of hope. I looked into my mom's dark brown eyes that looked like they belonged to no soul as she wrapped me in the warmth of her arms under a tree. I can’t help but wonder, where’s my daddy? Mother and I had lost him not being able to see through the smoke which was suffocating me not allowing me to speak. I traced shapes into my mom’s hand as she gently sung to me rocking me back and forth in her arms. I was safe under that tree in her arms. With that, I had fallen asleep unaware if I would wake up or not.

   “Jacqueline,” my mother shook my shoulder gently, “time to get up.” I rubbed my eyes groaning as I stretched. It felt nice to let the world disappear along with my worries and imagine myself flying above everyone else the wind sending chills down my spine. I would flap my white feathered wings and fly higher and higher until I was above the clouds. I wish dreams could be real. When I turned thirteen, my mother had died from breathing in chemicals. We still couldn’t find my da- wait. Why am I saying ‘we’? There is no ‘we’. Not anymore. There’s ‘me.’ Not ‘we’. Everyone had left. You could see my ribs clearly and my shoulder blades stuck out of my back. I ran through the woods branches skimming my cheeks and my feet making imprints in the dirt below me. I couldn’t be here. My heart pounded against my ribs and I was scared it might pop out of my body. Gunshots rang through my ears like a never ending scream piercing through my mind and vibrating my whole body. My legs felt like jelly but I could still feel the leather knapsack thrown over my shoulder hitting my side as I ran. I had to get to the house. As soon as I got to the house I slammed the door shut pushing multiple things in front of it and locking it so no one could get in. I finally relaxed. I let my body slump against the wall as I took in deep breaths. The room still looked the same. A blood red couch in the middle of piles upon piles of books I used to sit down and read. The yellow floral wallpaper was peeling revealing the concrete wall underneath. I regained my composure and walked through the hall to the study. I sat in the off-white chair at the wooden desk with an oil lamp lighting up the room. I opened the knapsack by my side pulling out a pen and a leather covered notebook. No one would ever see this, but if someone did, they’d known all i lived through in this god forsaken world. I touched the pen to the paper listening to the sounds of it gliding blissfully across the paper forming words I would never speak.

   ‘Only inside my dreams do angels exist. When I close my eyes and the world turns black, I’m flying. There’s no gunshots, no planes, no helicopters, no yelling or screaming, no gas, and no smoke. My mom is singing softly by my side holding my hand as my curls bounce and fall around my face dotted with freckles framing it. Everyone is smiling and laughing playing in green fields. But then I open my eyes. Immediately I hear gunshots, planes, yelling and screaming, helicopters, the smell of smoke a gas fill my lungs suffocating me like two hands wrapped around my neck getting tighter as time go on. My mom’s soft angelic voice is raspy from crying and screaming. The screaming. Like a gunshot piercing through my entire being. I can never forget it. Me legs feel like jelly as they carry my weight through the woods. All of my loved ones have died, so why can’t I? I just can’t seem to die. My hope has been shattered long ago so why god why won’t you just kill me? Why won’t you end my suffering. What am I waiting for? Is this my legacy? When I die, who will tell my story of how I lived through this time? No one. Because my flame burned out when it was just a spark. I don’t know what’s going to happen in the next hour but whatever it is, god, just let me die,’

   I closed the notebook laying my head against the desk feeling tears rush to my eyes. I looked to the boarded up window. Angrily, I pushed my seat out grabbed the boards and ripped them off the glass. I gripped the notebook throwing as far as I could watching it disappear. I shut the window and slid down against the wall in a ball of emotions. I closed my ey