Together

I failed.

That was the only word that was going through my mind, as I stood there on the hill, watching the sunrise. The space next to me was empty, so empty that it hurt. Even the little drawings he made in the mud was washed away by the rain, as if the world couldn't bear a reminder, of what they had lost that day. I longed to hear his quiet breathing, or the soft rustling of his shuffling feet, but I didn't. The silence weighed on me like a heavy blanket, as I stood there, leaning against the old sycamore tree.

I imagined him next to me right now, his eyes bright as he watched the ever-changing sky, filled with curiosity and wonder. I imagined him staring in awe as the fiery flower blossomed against dark blue, blessing the world with its light. I imagined his eyes, filled with a spark of life that no one else had. I wanted to stay in that perfect world forever, wanting so much for it to be true. But I knew that when I opened my eyes, it would all be fantasy. It would all just be a memory, and I would be greeted with the harsh reality. The reality that he was gone forever.

I dropped to my knees, wanting to cry, to scream, to shout out at the heavens for being so cruel. But I couldn't. I had no tears left to cry, and no voice left to scream. So I just sat there numbly, watching as the sun rose, like it was any other day. But it wasn't. Not since he had left me. Not since I let him leave me.

If only I was faster, stronger, braver, better, he would still be with me. He would still be here, his little hands grasping my own, his eyes sparkling like twin onyxes. It should have been me, not him. I failed the only thing that my parents had asked of me, and now, I am alone.

"Protect him Ciara. Protect your brother." That were my mother's last words to me as she handed me the little bundle of joy. She told me to run, and so I did. I ran and ran, tears streaming down my face as my mother ran the opposite way. Then I heard a gunshot. I was only 7 at that time, but I knew for a fact, that my mother was dead. That, I guess, is what you would know if your childhood was full of men constantly trying to kill you.

A year later, my father was also killed. Murdered just so me and little Marin could get away to Sweden. To safety. I remember how I pulled him close, pressing my hand over his mouth so he wouldn't scream. But I didn't have to. It seemed as if Marin already knew, even though he was only two. After they left in their tanks, I was up and running again, holding Marin close, refusing to let go even after we reached the next safe house.

Two years later of sneaking onto boats, and running in the shadows, we were caught. They found us hiding behind a bush, and threw us into a van along with countless other children. The ride was long, and in the back of the van, we were thrown around at every bump on the rode.

When finally the horrid ride of being slammed into the walls was over, Marin and I got out. The land all around us was shades of brown and black, and dead trees littered the landscape like bits of trash. The icy temperature didn't help. It was like the life had been sucked out of that sorry bit of land; it was nothing like the vast greens and blues that me and Marin had seen when we were on the run. I realized I never fully appreciated it, until it was taken away. We were in the middle of nowhere, and right in front of us, was a place that we heard so many stories about. As we ran from safe house to safe house, there was always one topic on everyone's minds. Always one wretched place, where nobody wanted to go. A place that everybody feared. It was a concentration camp.

In the middle of all the emptiness, stood a giant, ugly barb-wired fence, that seemed to stretch on for miles. It stuck out horribly, compared to the emptiness all around it, but in a way, it blended in. It was the same dreary, dark, miserable, place as it's surroundings.

Marin and I, along with the rest of the children in the van with us, were dragged into the camp. As we passed through the gate, the only way in and out I saw heavy-set armor-clad men, standing menacingly. They glared at us as we passed, as if to say: "I dare you to try and escape". Me and Marin were shoved into a cell, cramped with beds. Once I heard the metal door slamming shut behind us, I began to look around. Only then did I notice that on some of those beds, there were kids sitting on them. They looked horrible. They were all so skinny that you could see their bones, and their eyes were dark and sullen, with no spark of life. They were staring at us, and I remember trying to get them to talk.