Living in the Turmoil

This novel is based on an imaginary teen boy after life gets changed in the process of war and terrorism in the world in these current years. All characters are fictional; this book means no offence to any organization or government.

                                                                                  Chapter 1

                                                                              The Sacrifice

I opened the door of my house, and saw my mother mourning over my father's dead corpse, there lay nothing but blood and tears on those very droopy tiles, I took a few more steps and then as I lay my hand over my mother's shoulder, a tear slid past my eye. Why was all this happening? Who must have done this? All sorts of disturbing thoughts ran through my mind. I didn't know where to run with my mother, my brother, Nassir, is a rebel. He spends days fighting with people and returns home with food to feed me and my mother. My father's grocery had been shut forcefully by threats by the rebels. The rebels raided everything they could get their eyes on. Within a few months almost half my country was filled with refugees and war torn buildings, the only choice we had was to run to the neighboring country. Which I did, a month later I walked with my elderly mother halfway across my war torn country, we had no food and not enough water. There were other families with us, they all shared the same problems as us. We had a few medical supplies, and the fighting had not stopped. Everyday more and more injured people started showing up. We stopped at a hospital near Eastern Damascus; there were families, women and children, all sitting together in groups and praying. At this time, we could only pray to survive another day. We never cared about anything except for our lives; we then continued our journey to Turkey. I was going there to drop my mother; I couldn't see her suffer like this anymore. I knew she needed a safer place. This conflict would not end so soon, my brother was never there to support us, he always did what his uncle told him to. His uncle used to recruit boys from the village and train them to be violent, and teach them inhuman things, this angered my father, and maybe that's the reason the rebels targeted him on his way home. With great difficulty his friend managed to bring him home, half dead and smiling. His dream was to see me become a lawyer. Within 6 days we reached the border, there was a long line of hungry refugees and people had no water and sanitation, there was a foul smell of dead corpses. The Turks were giving shelter to those who had escaped from their country. Everything seemed totally unorganized. We couldn't believe that our lives would end up in this state. We got only two meals a day. I did not have a proper shower in a week. All I wanted to do is find my brother. That was the only thing that was going on in my mind right now, maybe if I found him he would explain to me why he wasn't there for us when we needed him the most. That was my next move, I dropped my mother to safety and now I was going to find a way back home. My mother blessed me and wished me good luck. I think I really need it, i am a 15 year old boy, I have no idea what the world is.

                                                                                  Chapter 2

                                                                                 The Return

I was on my own now, I had to look after myself and try to stay as safe as possible, and this was however the most difficult task right now. I was on my way back to my village. While walking, I met a group of boys. They were my age and a few of them were in their late teens. They spoke about some group that fought against the government. I had a strong feeling that my brother was in that group too. I made the best and riskiest decision of my life. Those boys took me to a camp, almost 15 kilometers away from my city, it was in the outskirts, and there were many other boys from the other villages. They looked at me as if I was an alien! They had violent looks and most of them were armed, they took me to a room, there was an old man sitting there, he had a white goatee and was sitting on a dining chair. He looked at one of the boys in my group and asked them who I was. The boy replied, his names Sadik, he is from the neighboring village. The old man got up from the chair, took out a pistol and handed it to me. I grabbed firm hold of it. He then asked me whether I knew how to use a gun. I replied yes. He asked me to show him some of my shooting skill. I then drew my gun towards a glass bottle on the windowsill and shot it. The glass flew all across the room and the old man was overwhelmed with joy. I didn't really like what I was doing at the moment. That night I sat down thinking of what I had got myself into. The next day they asked me to get into one of the trucks. I sat down at the back of the pick-up with three sixteen year old boys. We were all armed with Ak-47 assault rifles. We drove towards a village towards the north of Aleppo. There were other rebels there as well. They had killed few government troops. It was around 3 in the afternoon, when I reached there. They asked me to keep a watch on any incoming troop vehicles. I was nervous; I had bad thoughts in my mind. There was a dead rebel shot at least thrice. He was lying outside the meeting point of the rebels. They had called me in to show me a plan of their attack. The man showing me the map looked like an ex-army veteran. He had scars on his face and looked like a serial killer. He shouted at the other boys and even shot one of them on the hand when they refused to obey him. His name was Rayyan. He was the senior rebel. He made most of the plans. He wanted to see whether I could really kill someone, the next day we marched east towards a government convoy. They were ready to attack us. They had heavy machine guns and fired at us. One of the rebels was shot, but he continued to fight. I saw an armed man approaching, so I aimed at him and tried firing six bullets at him. Two bullets hit him; I could see him writhing on the floor for his life. I kept a steady aim and shot him one more time. He had died on the spot. One of the rebels ran to his dead corpse and picked up something from him. I was now officially a rebel, and I didn't feel bad for the person I killed. I felt like a cold blooded murderer. But this was just the beginning..........