I wrote a story for my English class about Syrian Refugees that I really liked. I hope you do too!
Everyone has left me. My mother left in one of the bombings of my city, trying to save my younger brother. My father left long before that, when we first learned the war was going to actually come to our city. Rima left for the US when it was still a haven, three months ago. It’s almost time for me to leave too.
There has always been fighting around me, but it wasn’t until a year ago that I actually was affected by it. I remember that day clearly. We were walking back from the fields when I heard screaming. The scream of little boys; little rabbits dying. So young, so innocent. My mother ran to the school. He was already dead. He was only seven. It was only his first year in school. Why him? What had he done wrong?
After that, it never really was the same. My brother was the only boy who died from the eruption, but several others were injured. Severely. So much so that they would never again work or play or just be normal boys. That was the night my father left. Just packed some clothes and food. No one knows where he went--I haven’t seen him since.
My mother didn’t speak for days. Didn’t eat. Didn’t move. She was in shock. My other brother and I tried to pretend everything was normal. We went to the fields and did our prayers though I don’t know if they did anything. I don’t even know if Allah is out there anymore.
The months passed. Gradually my mother left her shell. She began to eat. She did the prayers with us. She stayed strong. But it was never the same.
The bombings are now regular. People I have known my entire life are just gone. There are no funerals. There would be too many.
We lived as we always have until our house was hit. My mother and I were carrying water from well, but my brother. He was sleeping. He never woke. My mother went into the house to see if it was true, but I froze. I should have followed her. The pain would be gone if I had. That’s when the second one hit.
I ran. And ran and ran and ran. I don’t remember when I stopped, but I was among people I didn’t recognize. They said they were headed for Lebanon. For something called a refugee camp. They promised food and shelter and security. I almost believed them.
We walked for days. It made me wonder whether we actually knew where we were going. But I didn’t care. I had left nothing and I was going nowhere. There was never enough food or water. The hunger and thirst were probably the only things that kept me alive. If I could be hunger, I wouldn’t think of everything I had lost.
I wasn’t the only one who was alone. There was a whole group of girls just like me. That’s where I met Rima. She was so alive. She actually talked about her family and all the good things that used to be. She was the only one with hope. A belief that her life would get better.
My favorite was when she talked of America. She said her family was already there. They had fled to the same refugee camp we were going to and had been chosen to go as a family. She talked of eating all day long and drinking pure sugar and mountains and rivers and families and standing houses. All things I didn’t have. And I will never.
When we finally reached the camp, we were separated into family units. There were so many soldiers. It’s almost like my old home. I was assigned to a family. No one works here. They just hope for a ration of food. I am always hungry here. What everyone wants most is to be selected to go to America. It’s everyone’s hope and dream.
My family didn’t want me. They want me to be transferred, but the camp won’t follow through with it. I sleep on cardboard under the table. I clean the house and do what little chores are needed. If I do them perfectly, sometimes I get a portion of meat. I think my stomach has shrunk. I’m never really hungry anymore. I haven’t eaten consistently since I left home. I can now count my bones. A visible reminder of my hunger and the things I have given up from my old life.
My relief is Rima. She still talks and dreams. She has stayed the same. She always to goes with me to look at the lists. I can recognize my name now. Rima thought me.
Life always continues. I doesn’t matter what happens to you. Life continues. Life doesn’t care.
Rima is going to America. She tells me I will join her soon. I wondered how soon that will be.
In the weeks after she left, my life has become work, sleep, work, sleep, eat if I’m lucky, work, sleep. I’ve never really been good with people so I don’t talk to anyone. Maybe that’s why it was so easy to lose everything; I didn’t have much to lose.
I found out today that no one is going to America. Ever. Immigration has been shut down (allusion). I will never see Rima again. Why am I living?
My family was very upset about this. They heard of a camp that has possibilities of joining the war (allusion). They are sneaking out of the camp tonight. I will never see them again.
I didn’t go to the soldiers after they left. There was no point. What use is another young person in the camp, especially a girl. I just stayed in my assigned quarters, not leaving for food or drink. And just like everyone else who ever meant anything to me, I just left.
