The War

"You scared?" She asks me. 

My head turned to look at her. Her jaw was set, fists clenched, having a look of indomitable determination in her eyes as she stared through the window.

She looked strong and unbreakable. 

I took in several deep breaths. The last one came out with a slight shake. 

"Yes" I admit. 

Her mouth twitched a little. Her smile seemed artificial, rather sophisticated. "Well, we all are" she said. 

She ripped her gaze off the window to look at me. Her ocean-blue eyes locked on mine. Her face was genuine. 

"Mother once said that courage is knowing how to hide your fear" I said, though I didn't completely know what it meant. But I felt that it was the right thing to say. 

And it was. 

She nodded slowly, looking wistful for a second. "Yes. Yes, she did" She said. "and she was right" 

And with that, any warmth I could see in her eyes earlier was nowhere to be seen, replaced by an amount of coldness and cruelty that I never thought I would see on her face until this very day. 

She touched a hand to my bruised cheek. "Let's go" She mumbled. 

Turning away from me, she grabbed a gun from a table and slid a handful of bullets into her pocket. She walked out of the door and I feared she may never walk in again. 

Outside, people were all ready with their weapons , sheltering behind a hill, waiting for the right moment to start firing. The air was still quiet and peaceful with nothing but the sound of soft shuffling footsteps. 

I look out of the window, then at the green ribbon in my palms. 

Ash-had an la elah ella Allah, wa an Mohammed abdoh w rasoloh.

I'm supposed to go out there and stand and fight. But I feel so weak and useless. 

I remember my parents. They wouldn't have hesitated for a moment. I remember the day they died so vividly as if it was only yesterday.

I close my eyes. 

I see mother tieing a ribbon around her head, holding the weapon in her hands,smiling as she hugged us tight. I was too young to understand, but I saw the tears in her eyes, the fakeness in her smile, felt the slight shake about her hands, but neverthless, saw she looked strong as a boulder, and as brave as a soldier. 

Who she was. 

She walked away and, little did I knew, she was not coming back. 

I hear a bang. I see her blood slowly soaking her veil, her weapon, her back. Her last words were "Ash-had an la elah ella allah wa an mohammed abdo wa rasoloh"

I see my father back in Rabaa Square five years ago. Back at the time, their only weapons were their voices. I see a huge tank walking over him. My heart twists in my chest and heat rushes to my cheeks. I wince at the agonising memory.

I open my eyes.

I set my jaw and holding the ribbon up, I tightly tie it around my head. We're all ought to go back to where we've come from. I let my hands drop to my sides. I'm scared, but I won't let it stop me from fighting to the last minute.

I take a deep breath. My breathing is steady and calm, but behind my lungs, my heart is drumming wildly. I repeat the words as I cross the room to join the others.

Ash-had an la elah ella allah wa an mohammed abdo wa rasoloh.

I say it over and over again so I never forget. At any moment now, we'll start fighting. At any moment, I may leave this world. And I'm ready.

For those who were killed and tortured just because they refused to live as slaves.

I pick up a weapon and a handful of bullets.

For those who wanted a better world.

I take one more deep breath.

For those who were brave enough to stand for their rights. For those who believed in changing fate and ended up meeting their own.

I stepped outside. My steps are steady and decided as I walk to the huge hill and take my position.

For those who watched injustice being practised right before their eyes and pretended to be blind.

I won't be one of those.

I squat, crushing grass beneath my feet. Any minute now.

I suck in air through my nose.

And then I hear a bang.