The shrill bell rang through the speaker in the corner of the room. She briefly glanced to the pocket watch that was next to her pillow on her mattress, revealing she needed to proceed to the lunch room. She closed the anthology of poems she found – in the registration room a couple of days ago after her sunset prayer – and slipped it into the pocket inside her jacket. Her eyes roamed around the room – where one blanket and one pillow were resting on each of the hundreds of thin mattresses that were laid out side by side, covering the whole floor. She observed that it was quieter than before and saw some children and parents were still performing their midday prayer. She got up and made her way to the door that led to the lunch room.
"Name?" The guard demanded with a monotonous voice.
She drew her eyes away from the guard and glanced down at her ungroomed nails.
She whispered, "Amira."
The guard nodded, wrote her name down on lined paper and gestured with her hand for her to move into the food line. She walked along the front of the kitchen. She abruptly glanced up as the cook dropped the tray of utensils.
The noise was sudden. Like glass smashing, only louder and only for a second. Then, everything went quiet but only for a second. Then came the ringing. The catastrophic, ruthless ringing in her ears. She crouched down, covered her ears and prayed.
It felt like hours until she got back up and glanced around, forcing herself to be surprised with the destruction, acting as though she hadn't been in this situation before. And in those two minutes, the buildings she fleetingly called her home was now piles of rubble waiting to be scavenged through for missing people. The air suffocated her as clouds of black smoke and grey dust lingered in the midst of all the chaos. She heard the wailing and frantic screams of children and parents. She felt everyone running and pushing past her, hurriedly attempting to seek cover.
A familiar hand gripped her wrist and swiftly pulled her along. She briefly glanced up and saw her mother's eyes desperately looking around for someone, tears stained on her cheeks. Amira immediately realised her younger brother and sister were not holding her hand. She asked her mother where they were, only to see her mother's lips pursed, unwilling to utter a single word. She looked around. It all came back to her. She let them go. One minute they were clutching onto her hand and the next they went to play in the park. It was all her fault. They were gone because of her.
Soon enough, her mother reached the shore with Amira in tow. The wooden boat was packed with thirty people and ready to leave as an elder man was shouting in rapid Persian instructing everyone to move quickly.
Amira looked into her mother's hazel brown eyes then into her father's dark green ones – she just saw disappointment. She glanced back to the boat and then back to her parents. Amira's eyes widened as understanding flashed through her eyes.
Her mother and father gazed at her with vacant eyes. Overwhelmed with emotion, she wrapped her arms around her mother and father – attempting to salvage the moment – passing the message of goodbye through her rapidly beating heart and the tears running down her face. Her father slid a hard brass object into her hand.
She looked down at the pocket watch in disbelief, "I can't take this."
"Grandpa would've wanted you to have it," her father whispered.
With one last look, she grabbed a lifejacket and sat in the middle of the boat, compressed by bodies all around her.
Amira gripped the family heirloom and couldn't hold her tears at bay. The guilt sat on her like a child on her shoulders. She wasn't there to save them. She wasn't there to protect them. She should've told them no, she should've known this was going to happen, she should've known. She let them go and it was all her fault. Her parents were sending her away because she killed her siblings.
***
"I want to go home,
but home is the mouth of a shark
home is the barrel of the gun
and no one would leave home
unless home chased you to the shore."
Amira read the words as she sat on the sheltered bench outside the compound – she had subconsciously claimed this spot when she first came here three years ago. She deeply exhaled as the wind nipped her nose and droplets of rain touched her outstretched hand. She glanced at the pocket watch next to her and saw that it was nearing seven am. Amira noted she had one more hour until breakfast.
She observed the area and noticed a small park in front of the tall barbed fence. She watched as her younger brother and sister played with the swing set, laughing joyously. Amira glanced away and returned her gaze to find them gone. Nostalgia bottled up inside of her. She brought her knees to her chin and wept as the rain got heavier.
***
"Amira Nobakht. Amira Nobakht to the main guard's office. Amira Nobakht."
Amira glanced to the speaker with confusion and made her way to the guard's office. She knocked three times and the door opened for her.
"A letter for you," announced the head guard handing her an envelope.
Amira grabbed the letter and held onto it tightly. She ran until she reached her mattress. With anticipation, she tore the letter open. Amira brought a hand to her mouth as she read the letter. Her eyes caught onto last five lines, written in her father's neat handwriting.
"My beloved daughter,
you have to understand,
that no one puts their child on a boat
unless the water is safer than the land...
because prison is safer than a city of fire"
She tightly shut her eyes and brought the letter to her chest. Amira was in disbelief. They didn't think it was her fault. They didn't want her to leave. She opened her eyes and saw her brother and sister waving at her, smiling. Amira wiped away her tears and waved back with a small smile of adoration. It was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay.
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Poems are not mine unless stated otherwise. Experts of poem taken from Home by Warsan Shire and This Broken Boat by Mark William Jackson.
