Refugee Writing.

By Anonymous -
Dust
Shiver. He trembles. Small shoulders, up and down, up and down, the waves in an endless ocean. I hold him close, wrapping my arms around him, pulling him in. Shiver. I tremble, as the water sprays up, up into my face. Churning, churning. His pleading eyes, a constant reminder of my home. Lost - lost to dust. To dust and crumbling ruin.

On the day my parents died, I sat. Absorbed in my favourite book - oblivious.
A slow, soft whistling. Filling the air. Gasp. I sit bolt upright. A stricken face stares wide eyed at me in the window. An emerald glint. But over her shoulder, a white blob. Falling, falling.
‘ELIAS’!

Darkness hits. Overpowering. Overwhelming. A void surrounding me, pushing in on me. Choking ... gasping...
Eyes flutter open. Blinking. Once, twice, as the darkness fades. Elias, screaming my name, crying. But I don’t hear him. Instead, ringing. Resounding throughout me, a constant moan. His face, a portrait of blood. A river of tears cascading. Down, down. His soft features discerned. So young.

I can’t move. Every muscle in my body burns with the effort, screaming out in pain. I hear him now.
“Aya!”.
Cracked lips part, but words don’t form. I swallow.
“Elias,” I croak weakly. He turns. Our eyes lock as he runs towards me, dropping to his knees. My arms reach out, fingers brushing his face. Closer, closer, as the pain releases it’s scorching grip. We stay there, neither one daring to speak a word.

I feel it. Pulsing. Coursing throughout my veins, my body, my soul. I feel it. The heartbeat of Aleppo. Beat, beat, parallel to mine. To his. To theirs. To ours.

A city lost. Lost to dust. To dust and crumbling ruin.

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