War Kids

by HJ Lawson

  Finally, I open my eyes. Moving along the wall to the side of the doorway, I know that in a few moments the door will fly open as the soldiers charge through it.

  It’s unthinkable what they’ll do if they find me. I’ve heard stories of them selling girls to the highest bidders, and if they’re too old for marriage, the girls are tortured until they joined the army. I really don’t know what’s worse - suffering the pain of an unwanted marriage, or being forced to kill the innocent.

  Trying to distract myself away from those thoughts, I stare down at my feet. I brush away the fallen pieces of wall and dust from the attack on the hospital. Looking along the ground to the left, I see what appears to be the shape of a car that’s covered in a gray snowfall. I’m in the hospital parking lot. I’ve been here before with my mother and Lucas when he broke his arm.

  Thank God…

  As I take in a full breath of ice cold air, my lungs expand and excitement briefly fills my body. I know where I am, and I’m still alive. I can make it back to the village, that is, if I don’t die of hypothermia first.

  The lot is empty and eerily silent… as if the whole world is unaware of the horrific murder scenes inside the hospital.

  It's time to get out of here. I've always enjoyed running at school, but this is different. Now it’s like a pack of wolves is chasing me and they’ll rip the skin off my back if I stop.

  But I won’t stop; I don’t stop. I run faster and faster… as fast as I can.

  My lungs feel weaker than I remember them ever being before. There is a strange burning sensation, as if I’ve eaten hot coal. Maybe there’s something wrong with me? Maybe it’s the reason I was in the hospital?

  I make it to the foot of the slope - time to climb. I wish I had my sneakers on; my feet are already shredded from walking on the rubble in the hospital and the woman clawing at my ankle. I feel badly for kicking her, and I wonder what’s happened to her now.

  I grip on the tree vines as I climb, and my path is lit by the stars above me. Rising up the incline, I can almost feel them.

  Reaching over to a small bendy tree, I take hold of a branch and the leaves suddenly rip away. I stumble, but manage to regain my footing at the last second. I scramble to the top of the hill.

  Finally I make it, but it’s no time for celebration. I slump to the ground and look down at the hospital, knowing that everyone is dead except me and them.

  I'm so alone.

  I’ve never been out this late, except once, when I was with my family, and we were celebrating New Year’s Eve.

  My father brought us sparklers – we’d seen fireworks on the TV, and they looked so beautiful. But fireworks are banned here… everything fun is banned here. My mother was very cross at my father but, like him, she wanted us to enjoy ourselves.

  They woke Lucas and me up in the middle of the night.

  “Jada. Jada, wake up.”

  “Five more minutes,” I said.

  My mother rocked me. “Wake up, Jada. We have something to show you.”

  I stretched my arms, letting out a big yawn. My mother had the brightest smile on her beautiful face. The light from the hallway shone on her as she brushed the hair from my eyes, tucking it behind my ear. I hated it when she did that. But now I wish she could do it again.

  Her eyes were shiny with joy, and I begin to laugh. “Why are you so excited?” I asked her.

  My father stood in the doorway with Lucas. I laugh to myself as I recall how Lucas looked like a zombie in his pajamas. I missed days like that… just a regular morning with my family.

  Why did the soldiers have to steal it from me?

  “What's going on?” I asked as I climbed out of my soft, warm bed and into my fluffy slippers. I got a new pair every Christmas, always a different theme. This year’s theme was unicorns. When I walked, stomped, or jumped, the mouths opened. Lucas also got a pair. His were dragons, and they roared every time he moved around.

  Still half-asleep, I headed over to my father. He stretched out his arms and wrapped them around me. My head rested on his chest, and I could hear the rhythm of his heart beating, like drums at a festival. My father was a strong man, very friendly to everyone, and had a very sneaky, funny side; we would laugh so much we would cry. I always felt safe with him.

  Father led Lucas and me to the hallway to get our jackets. It got very cold at night, and the wind also had a nasty bite to it. Without protest we silently pulled them on, my white puffy jacket reminding me of my bed. I wrapped the hood over my head and leaned to the side, as if I was still in bed or sleepwalking. The fur from my collar tickled my nose.

  We got to the front door. “What’s going on?” I asked my mother and father again.

  They both stood there in silence with big smiles across their faces.

  A tingle runs up my spine as I remember that moment now. How silly to think we were so excited over one little packet.

  The shiny, colorful packet was filled with sparklers: hand-held fireworks.

  I hesitantly looked at my mother. She was the boss of the house, and it was funny because she was so much tinier than my father. She nodded at me with approval, and her face lit up with a giant smile. I ran over and hugged her. She was taller than I, but we always said I’d be bigger than her when I got older. Lucas ran to our father and hugged him, laughing.

  The memory warms my insides like hot chocolate on a cold winter night. The worry-free look on my parents’ faces. Our happy laughter. I would do anything for just one more day with my family. The thought of their loving faces brings tears to my eyes.

  My father scooped me up in his arms and threw me over his shoulder as I let out a high-pitched screech. My mother picked up Lucas, and we headed out the front door. Mother followed Father as he led the way around our house to the side of the garden. I knew where he was heading.

  At the end of our garden, there was a silver chicken net fence. Father placed me down on the ground, and then went to the fence and began to roll it back to create a path for us.

  Mother walked through with Lucas and me, as Father carefully wrapped it back in place.

  We made our way together to the side of the hill, holding hands. We could see the whole town from there. I thought we were the kings of the castle. Looking over the valley below, everything looked so peaceful, quiet and beautiful... like a dream.

  Mother took Lucas’ sparklers and opened the packet. I did the same with mine. There were two long metal sticks, one for each of us, about 20 inches long and with black painted ends. Mother and I each held one stick out, and Father lit them with a red lighter. The sparklers slowly started burning and emitting colorful flames. Mother quickly moved her hand, creating a luminescent circle. She wrote Lucas’ name, much to his excitement.

  “My turn,” he cried out. Mother passed the sparkler to him, and a huge smile lit up his face.

  Now, as I pick up a twig from the ground and raise my arm to the sky, I pretend I’m back on the hill with my family. I spell my name in the midnight sky with the colorless stick: J-A-D-A.

  Uncontrollable tears flood down my face, my wide eyes still looking upwards. Suddenly, a flash of bright white lights streak across the dark sky.

  What the hell…?

  Then the sounds of terrifying, heart-stopping explosions – one after another – fill the sky, shaking the ground I sit on.

  In the distance, I hear planes swooping through the sky, then more explosions as they fire at their targets with devastating precision. Flames roar as a nearby apartment building is bombed.

  I’m in the middle of hell.

  The planes in the sky above me have found their target: the hospital. This was the last one in the area. My blood boils as I hear another explosion and watch another tall building go up in flames.

  God, Lord, please stop them; stop them from killing the innocent… are you going to be a spectator to slaughter, Lord? Please help!

  The sky fills with a whistle, then another explosion. The pressure forces me to the gro
und, and a shower of debris and dust covers me as the earth quakes. I brush the dirt from my eyes and look up, holding my breath.

  They missed the hospital… they missed!

  But they’d hit the parking lot I’d just been in not ten minutes ago. I would’ve been dead if I’d stayed there.

  Maybe He was listening… Maybe there is still hope for us.

  Chapter 6

  Blue Sky Above.

  KYRA

  I know my mom. Victoria is jealous of her sister, my Aunt Faith, for her natural beauty. But I've always thought my mom is just as beautiful until she puts her makeup on. Her skin is orange from spray tans, and her lips are too-bright red. I cannot remember the last time I saw her without her war paint. My dad, Charles, tells her all the time how stunning she is, but she just brushes him away.

  What I love about Faith is that she is so free. She travels around the world with Gérard. They are both volunteer doctors and are the most caring people I’ve ever met. I’m glad she’s my aunt. Gérard is one of those hot, mysterious types… every time he speaks with that sexy French accent, I lose the ability to think straight! Mom knows I have a crush on him, but who wouldn’t? I bet she even likes him.

  I want to be like Faith. It’d be exciting to visit all those different countries. Mom wants me to be a lawyer… boring! She has it set in her head that once I finish at the university, I’ll go on to law school.

  God, I am not looking forward to that conversation! She’ll have a heart attack! I’m going to have to get Dad on my side first.

  “I don’t know why I even hire her, she does appalling work!” Mom yells out, breaking my daydream.

  “Don’t fire her like you did the rest. Your expectations are just too high.” I roll my eyes as I listen to her complain.

  “How did your day go?” she asks.

  “Good.” I quickly try to end the subject. Can’t she see I’m trying to get my homework done? All my books are spread out on the table; you’d think she would see I’m busy.

  “Kyra, how is your blood sugar level today?” Mom asks. “Did you have tennis today?” Concern fills her voice.

  Here we go. Here comes the daily – and sometimes hourly – routine line of questions since I was diagnosed. I just wish she could let me be a normal teenager.

  Starring down at my homework, I mumble, “It was at 70, so I had a bag of jelly beans. I’m fine.”

  “70… you know that’s too low.”

  “I know, I know. I took the test again 15 minutes later and it was at 104. Perfect. I have this under control, so try not to worry.”

  Glancing up from my homework, I look over at Mom to make sure she’s okay, when I hear a familiar voice coming from the TV.

  “Mom, Mom, turn up the TV. Faith is on,” I yell.

  Mom grabs the control from the granite worktop and turns up the volume.

  “Entire villages have been cleared off the map,” Faith is saying, looking directly into the camera. “Innocent children are being massacred, and a whole generation is being erased. For what? I pray every moment that the government and political parties around the world engage with the rebels. The rebels are capable of engaging in dialogue because if they do not, the blood of the innocent is on their hands…. On all of their hands.”

  Faith speaks directly to the camera, and it feels like she is talking to me and my mom. The sadness in my aunt’s eyes haunts me…

  What has she seen? Mom is going to be so cross. She always goes on and on about Faith… “Why does she always have to try to help? This is not our problem, why is she there?! Why can’t she work in America? Why put herself in danger?”

  Faith stands in what looks to be a rundown hospital. There’s a small girl in a bed next to her who appears to be about my age. Faith looks as if she hasn’t washed her hair in days. Mom frowns.

  “Dad, Dad, Faith is on the TV,” I yell.

  Mom hushes me.

  The news broadcast goes back to the studio. A lady and gentleman are seated behind a table with CNN on the front in red letters. Next to the man is a large monitor.

  “We have a live feed from Laura Leeming from the BBC news. She interviewed Doctor Faith Mills this night in Syria.”

  Jesus, are they in the middle of a war?

  My dad enters the kitchen and walks over to Mom.

  “Victoria, your sister will be okay. Faith is strong.” My dad tries to comfort my mom, placing his arm around her. Mom and Dad hardly ever show any emotion to each other unless Mom’s had a few glasses of wine.

  “Thank you, Chris,” the newswoman said. “I’m live in Syria. I have just visited the last hospital in the worst-hit area of the war, and all other hospitals have been destroyed. I saw firsthand the suffering of children and adults who had been attacked with chemical poison. Early reports and doctors say that it was a nerve gas attack. The government denies it, but the evidence shows otherwise. These are real victims of this civil war. The death toll is currently at 1,429 – half of which are children.”

  “Please be warned, these images are of the dead and injured,” says the anchorman in the studio.

  On the screen, there is a shot of twenty small bodies lined up on the ground. The children look about five years old, and wear shorts and t-shirts. You can tell from the way the children are positioned that they are all dead.

  Jesus, this is sickening… how could anyone do this? It just doesn’t make sense!

  Then a photo comes up of a young teenager, lying in bed covered with a white sheet, her hair matted and wild. She looks as if she is sleeping.

  “After we left the hospital, we found out the hospital was bombed. We cannot report whether there are any survivors. We’ve been informed by the UN that there were armed UN teams at the hospital within moments of the attack. Our prayers are with them.”

  I gasp.

  “Laura Leeming, reporting live from Syria. Chris, back to you in the CNN studio.”

  The kitchen falls silent for a moment. “No!” Mom cries out. “It’s not even our war. Why is she there?” Then she bursts into tears.

  “Dad, Dad, call Gérard. She’ll have survived. He’d protect her, so call him. I know she will be okay. He will protect her.”

  Chapter 7

  Fear Cannot Dominate My Life.

  JADA

  The war is unfolding in front of me, and it will not stop. “Jada, keep running,” I chant to myself.

  Darkness is fading, and nighttime is meeting morning. It’s probably around 6 am. The freshness of a new day fills my nostrils. Birds begin to sing their morning songs, so chipper, blissfully unaware of last night’s massacres.

  I’m tired and hungry, but I have to continue. I am close to home. But what waits for me there?

  Before the war, when I was younger, whenever we heard a jet or helicopter above us, we’d all run out on the terrace in excitement to wave at them. Then they started bombing in nearby towns, and everything changed. When the jets flew above our school, the alarm would ring. Our teachers would round us up and take us all to the ground floor to the security room.

  At first it was all fun – a bit like a fire drill. Everyone would line up, hold hands with their partners, and then two-by-two we’d walk downstairs, chatting with our friends. As time passed, we became bored of the interruptions.

  We’d be playing in the yard, and the alarm would go off, ringing in our ears, leaving a buzzing sound. The roar of the jets became a normal part of life. We heard them all the time, but mainly at night. The sound upset Lucas, and he’d sleep in Mother’s bed. I didn’t blame him, and at times I’d jump in as well.

  The teachers tried to make it normal for us by singing songs or putting music on when we got to the safe room. Once I got older, I knew what the sound was – they were bombing towns like ours.

  One day, on the playground, my friend told me that her cousin went to another school where three kids had been killed in the schoolyard. It had become normal to talk about killings, but when my friend told me about this one,
I got scared. They were killing children – it all became very real.

  At night, I’d dream about the jets firing down on the school and about snipers ready to kill us. I’d wake up soaking with sweat, sometimes screaming. Mother would come in to look after me. The dreams felt so real… I can still remember them vividly. They still feel real, even to this day.

  Once my mother heard about the murders at the school, she stopped me from going. At first I was pleased – what child wants to go to school? I was thinking about sleeping in and catching up on my favorite TV shows.

  But after a week I was bored out of my mind, and all I wanted was to go back to my normal life – back to school to see my friends.

  I begged Mother to let me go back, but she refused. Eventually, Father began teaching me at home, and it helped take my mind off things.

  Now as I walk up to the charred wreckage of the two-story building, I am grateful Mother kept me away. They bombed my school. There is still the fresh smell of explosives lingering in the air. There were one hundred children here; the attack must’ve happened at night, because there aren’t any bodies. A lot of my friends stopped coming here when I did. Their parents were also scared, and they were obviously right to be… their nightmares have come true.

  Shattered glass covers the rubble on the ground. None of the windows are left – they’re all blown out from the blast. The force of the explosion created heaps of rubble. There is nothing but debris left.

  I wonder if I’ll ever go to school again. Before the war started, my plan was to go to the university near the city. I wasn’t sure what to study, but I always wanted to do something that would enable me to travel. I've just never felt at home in Syria. I’ve never belonged here.

  I make my way through the rubble.

  I can see the silver legs of a classroom desk sticking out of some trash. The blast must’ve been so strong that it blew the furniture out. No one would’ve survived if they’d been in there. Thank God it happened at night. Was He watching over us? Mother said, “He’s watching over us,” but I think it’s all a lie. How could God stand by and watch this happen while doing nothing?