Under the Olive Tree

27. Sab'a Wa'Ishrun

"No, Amjad. That won't happen. Muhsin will- ah!" She cried out when a powerful force suddenly pulled her head back. Amani fell onto the floor and reached to grip the hand that dragged her by the hijab on her head. Her feet kicked into the ground, desperate to get up so the scarf would not be torn off of her head in the center of the town.

"Amani!" Amjad cried.

But she was hauled down the stairs and into the street. A sharp pain shot up her back when she dropped onto the rocky land. Amani held tightly onto the wrist of the man that flung her over the ground as if he was trying to tear her cover off of her and deface her in front of all the men fighting in the street.

"Let go!" She yelled. "Let me go!"

"Let's see if he wants you after everybody else has seen you," the man spat, his accent nearly perfect. As if because he knew more about them than the other soldiers, he knew exactly how to win.

He tried to tug the material back, but Amani let her body fall with the pull so it remained on her head and tried to keep his hand from moving any further. "Muhsin!" Amani screamed for the boy on her left, knowing her place on the floor wouldn't allow her to protect herself as she needed to. She closed her eyes and screamed. "Muhsin!"

"Amani!" Yazan shouted from her right but it didn't process in her mind that it was her brother's voice until a loud gunshot rang through the air. Only then did all the fighting and commotion cease. Only then did the hand trying to rip her hijab off fall away.

Amani tugged the material back to her forehead and spun around to find the soldier stumbling back, his hand on the blood pouring from his chest. He'd been shot. Slowly, the man looked toward his shooter.

She followed his gaze, twirling to her right to see Muhsin holding the gun and standing in front of her brother. Over his shoulder, Yazan's eyes were wide with horror, caught on the man who fell to the floor behind her. Muhsin breathed heavily, his grip on the weapon firm at his side. He'd shot him.

Muhsin breathed, his voice and expression controlled. "Don't touch our children. Don't touch our women. If a single droplet of blood falls from either, rivers of yours will flow in the streets. Do you understand now?" He asked.

"You shot a soldier," someone behind her spoke. The thick accent exposed who was speaking. "You have brought a hell you cannot imagine on yourself and your family."

"I'm not afraid," Muhsin answered.

Once the soldiers left, Yazan raced toward his sister, embracing her like he would fall through the ground if his hold was not secured enough. Amani flinched in surprise. "It's alright," she patted his back, watching Muhsin hand the weapon to an older man over his shoulder. "I'm fine. It's not my blood," she motioned to the drops behind her.

Yazan pulled away to face her. "I shot him. I pulled the trigger," he blinked, his widened eyes not yet processing what he'd done through the shock radiating throughout his mind. But the utter terror in his gaze told of his honesty.

"What? But Muhsin was the one with the-."

"He took it from me. As soon as-."

Muhsin's hand dropped on Yazan's shoulder and he lowered himself onto the ground beside them. "You should go home, both of you," he looked between them. "Tensions are high. Give it a day or two and everything will be back to normal. For now, stay away from this side of town, OK? You, especially," he turned to Amani.

"We were going to the hospital," she answered.

"Don't go there either."

"I will," Amani spoke firmly. "I've been going and they're not going to stop me. They wouldn't have stopped Fayza."