A War Story - Original Writing

A War Story - Original Writing

I perched over the wall, looking deep into the darkness. Deep, with

unfocused pupils trying to forget it all. I stared at the

sophisticated shapes of the mosque when my eyes suddenly came into

focus. I sat and observed the devout Muslims, not coming to pray but

to bargain with Allah. The regulars were all there; the blind woman

wishing to see her daughter for the first time; the schoolgirl praying

to do well in her exams, somehow bargaining at the same time; and

Shahbana-the searching mother.

Shahbana had an interesting story, but remembering it was the hardest

thing for me to do. No matter how hard I tried I could never forget

him. He is my brother, Shahid Ahmed, and I am Sheeza. This is my

story.

August 14th 1997

It was six-thirty and Abu hadn’t returned home yet. Ammi was getting

worried. Our dwelling was in the midst of a battlefield. Therefore

being home one minute late was compared to hell. The once captivating

valleys of bewitching Kashmir were now destroyed. Terrorists roamed

the streets daily to shriek their political messages. Shrieking

through bloody throats. Killing to be heard.

I sat and observed my surroundings. We constantly tried to forget the

war so our house was decorated like paradise. My eyes flittered over

the wooden mirror to my brother’s distinctive grey eyes. We’ve always

been very close as brother and sister but today he was acting

strangely. He’d spent his day with Hassan Ali. Hassan believed in the

principles of Islam, he enjoyed preaching them to people with his

rigid conviction, it was practically his hobby. Ammi hated the

extremism of Hassan and forbade S...

... middle of paper ...

...riq boy

has a lot of nerve. So I beheaded him” It wasn’t true, it just

couldn’t be. Nobody could be that evil. I looked at his face full of

anger, full of insanity and jumped up

“Tariq!” I cried “Tariq!” I ran into the adjacent room looking for

him, shrieking his name as I scuttled through

“There’s no use” A manic voice behind me said. “He can’t here you

where he is”

“What is your problem Shahid? Why did you take his life? How does his

death achieve Kashmiri independence?” Shahid had a response but I was

too astonished to listen. Shivers ran down my back as I thought about

it. I’d just sacrificed my fiancée for this madman? My legs could no

longer withstand my weight therefore I collapsed onto the floor. No

tears came out because I’d drained them all as a child. My blemished

eyes closed for the last time.