The man stayed silent and motioned me with his hand. I followed, anxiety welling up in my body.
There she was, sprawled across the dirt floor, her thin body motionless and lifeless, covered by a blood-soaked tarp. Afraid that her precious body had been blown apart, I ever so carefully lifted the cloak and saw her beautiful, tan skin. It was losing its glow from her once uplifting spirit. A piece of shrapnel had cut between her neck and inserted itself behind her ear, and I was thankful that her death wasn't slow and painful. Yet I couldn't help but cry. Rehan was my other half, and losing her was like losing a part of me. I shook her, begging my daughter to listen to my final request, my hands covered in her blood. Friends and family attempted to pry me away from my daughter, yet I couldn't comply. I wanted to protect her in my arms, hold and kiss my Rehan, pretend as if nothing bad ever happened.
"Do you love her?" her father asked me. All I could do was nod, stifling sobs for her sake. "Then let her go."
I will never forget her fragrance, her radiant laughter, and her kindness. She was finally at peace, away from the violence that plagued our country so.
Rehan was the best piece of me, the piece that brought me full circle. I refuse to believe that my daughter's death was in vain, murdered as a result of mindless individuals seeking to expand their wallets. This war has killed thousands of innocent bystanders, going on with their normal lives. My daughter and her classmates were not just executed because of heavy artillery, but d as a result of lack of compassion, humanity, and morals. Had I stopped time, prevented myself from letting Rehan go to school, she would be here, alive and breathing beside me. There is no use in regretting our actions and taking responsibility for things that we cannot stop from happening. By not feeling guilty and accountable for the deaths of those that we love, we are able to accept reality and go on with our lives.
YOU ARE READING
Syria's War
NouvellesThe aftermath of a child's death leaves a mother grieving and distraught. Short story I wrote for a school assignment inspired by the true account of a mother who saw her daughter blown to pieces in a war-torn country.
