The sound of the alarm buzzed like a trapped wasp. My dreams evaporated into the eternal skies as I was slowly brought back into this sunny day. A lazy smile rested on my face as I stretched my arms and legs. My eyes caught a glimpse of a school uniform perched neatly on my bed. Excitement danced in my eyes as I remembered that it’s the first day of school.
Mamma was already up and about; preparing breakfast and chatting merrily to Papa. The beginning of the school year is always welcomed with thrill and gratitude as it marks another year of growth and knowledge; a reason every mother in this town makes her strongest effort to make it a special day for her child.
After a frenzy of dress-ups, wolfing down my food, and flinging things wildly into my schoolbag, I took one last look at my parents and I stopped for a moment. A sudden torrent of emotions stirred inside me, that I jumped into their embrace and pecked them a kiss each. The three of us stayed in that beautiful, encirclement for what lasted a few minutes. I engulfed their scents mixed with the comforting warmth of their love. Then I let go.
The last words I heard from them was a prayer to protect me from all evil.
My two best friends, Eva and Nora, were already waiting for me by the neighborhood park. We’ve known each other ever since we were toddlers, and I think they know all my secrets and me theirs! We reached the school ten minutes later where we were greeted by all our classmates with animated talks and casual hugs as the teachers tried to arrange this chaos into neat lines for the assembly.
Our headmistress is a kind, old lady who’s been working in this school for decades. She’s quite revered in our town for opening the first school and graduating hundreds of students after that. She cleared her throat as she started her welcome note. She talked passionately about the spirit of true education and the roles we will play in the future of our country when, suddenly, her face contorted in a mixture of shock and fright as a group of masked men slowly surrounded our courtyard like dark, gloomy clouds covering the bright sun.
At first, we were at lost for words, silent and condescending, waiting for the menacing fate to unravel our future which, at this moment, lay between the hands of these uninvited guests. The younger children started screaming at the sight of guns and the black masked men slowly started engulfing us – gearing us towards the inside of the school, where they locked us up from all exits.
We were all dragged towards the gym hall; soon there were hordes of us cramped in this tiny space. The terrorists started setting up their devices and wires around the room, someone was being radioed from an external source, and others stood as forts holding us under their siege. I clung tightly to Eva and Nora in a semblance of natural human bonding when in danger. That terror was just beginning.
Minutes turned into hours, and each passing hour made everybody tense and unsettled; especially the terrorists. We had neither water nor food; we weren’t even allowed to go to the toilet. A lot of the children had lost consciousness by the next day. Teachers were wailing and begging the terrorists to set us free but they got nothing but cruel silence. I lay like a zombie, neither allowed no freedom nor movement. My body slowly went numb, and I fell into a momentary state of blackout.
Dark images circled my world; there were deafening sounds of firing guns, women and children were crying, and soon I was drowning in a sea of blood and tears. I woke up with a sharp searing through my head. My vision was blurry, half teary, half dizzy. I could barely comprehend my surroundings until I heard one of the men screaming at another child and kicking him to the walls. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as a teacher tore part of her skirt to cover the wounds in order to calm his panicky tears. A string of verbal abuse followed for the rest of the upset children.
It’s our third day here and we haven’t heard about any rescuers nor armed forces being successful with convincing the terrorists to let us go. What did they want? What was the purpose of this siege? What have innocent children got to do with their political movements? I am imagining the legions of parents waiting patiently and hopefully outside the school for their children to return safely to them as if this incident hadn’t happened in the first place. But I was wrong, there was no one here to help us, and soon every moment I held onto was as precious as eternity; for I was sensing another unwelcome stranger looming in this room.
Rivulets of tears trickled down my face, welling up my heart with as much courage as I could muster… I am seeing that image of my parents and me that morning, entwined in our bond, the picture is vivid as are the emotions of that day. Would I live to see them grow old? Will I become a doctor like I’ve always wanted to be? Will I play with Papa in the meadows next to our apartment? Will I see Mamma cry as she prepares for my wedding day, delivers my first child, and shows my children proudly to everyone she knows because I am her daughter, a part of her body and soul?
My train of thoughts suddenly halted and I couldn’t go further. My stop is here. This is where it all ends… I never realized how precious life was, until this moment where every minute is sifting through the glass of time, until one moment when… all would be gone. I mumbled a silent prayer – the same one my parent had invoked the last time I saw them.
A fight erupted with two of the terrorists. I sensed their confusion and the fact that this distressing scheme was rendered fruitless. Suddenly, one of them started ushering us out of the hall – something that astonished us and some of the other terrorist members. We quickly jolted from our languid positions and raced towards the exit. I was so happy it was all over. I didn’t want to turn back… but when I did, I saw the man stepping into a device that sent a shrieking explosion rippling through the entire school.
I was found under rubbles of stones, badly burned from the fire – but my mother had recognized my face, my birthmarks and surrendered her thoughts to God.
There were hundreds of children who passed away that day. The town’s small graveyard wasn’t enough to bury all of them in, so another patch of land was chosen for all the dead children's bodies to be buried. It became a daily pilgrimage for all the mothers who lost their children, some sitting silently by their dead children, others wailing loudly in recrimination to the deaths of their children. But there was no response, nor from the people, nor from the government, and especially not from the dead bodies scattered in the area.
I saw my Mamma resting next to my grave. Streams of tears fell never-endingly from her beautiful eyes. Her face was tired, desolate, and lost. A part of her had died, and she felt that deeply as she lived each day miserably, dragging into the days, waiting for the last chapter to be furled to its waited ending. She finished reading my bedtime story; it was time for bed. One which I never awoke from. One which leaves her wondering if she can get a kiss from me before she closes the light.
A soft misty rain poured from the heavens; they were warm… like human tears. Mamma lingered for a few moments later, finally placing my book next to my grave. She remembered my favorite one… She touched the engraving on my tomb: Sarai, 1990-2001, Her parents’ angel on earth. She cried as she got up and left the graveyard… until she was nothing but a dot in the huge expanse. And I could see her every move while I was flying, flying, flying… to heaven.
