Random Short Stories

An empathy task we did in class

So this one holds a tad more 'importance' (pfft, importance) than the other two things that came before it....In one of my English classes last year, we were studying 'boat people', 'asylum seekers' as such. We did an empathy task that had to be from the asylum seekers point of view. A sentence was written up on the board and we went from there. And I thought I'd share mine with you.

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The gate closes. I am in jail. I cannot remember the date, month, year or where it took place, but the things that happened I can recall accurately--they have always remained in my mind.

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The war began a few days ago. I cannot remember a date, but I remember what happened. I remember it clearly.

I was at home, helping my mother, trying to make her better. She was sick. With what, I have no idea. I had run to the kitchen to get a washcloth, because her lunch had made an appearance. I had been saturating the fabric when the first guns went off. I remember frowning, thinking, 'What was that? It sounded close.' I shrugged it off, going back to my work. With the washcloth in hand, I ran down the hallway. Thinking back, I shouldn't have run.

The first bomb went off. Half of our house exploded. I met my mothers eyes. She was looking at me. Her expression said: 'Save yourself. Run.'

Then the roof fell in.

I dropped the washcloth and ran like the wind. I didn't pause for shoes, not for better clothes, nothing. Dust was everywhere. I could men yelling. I knew that I didn't want to be caught by them.

I slipped into the shadows, trying to think. I had nothing, I knew no one, and my mother was dead. A single tear rolled down my cheek, but I brushed it away angrily. Now was not the time. I don't know how long I stayed in that corner, staying as silent as I could. I watched the men run by me. I had sighed in relief. I crept out of the shadows, and by now it was sunset.

I wandered through the backstreets, wary of what I would find.

I paused suddenly. I could hear sobbing. But it sounded like a boy.

I darted to the wall. I looked around a bin and sitting a few meters away was a boy my age. His clothes were torn, his dark hair messy and knotted. His head was in his hands. I crept over, wondering what I should do. He looked....sounded lonely.

"Hey." I placed my hand softly on his arm.

He flinched and and looked up at me quickly. Tears streamed down his cheeks, his green eyes dull, broken.

"Hey." I said again. "Let's get out of here."

He looked confused for a second, then he got up and we walked quickly and in silence.

More gunshots echo and the ground rumbled. I turned around and saw dust flooding the alleyway.

I grabbed his hand. "We need to go. Now!"

And we ran. More men were yelling, more gunshots being fired. We ran for what felt like hours, past homes and shops, past hurt people. I didn't want to think about them. They reminded me of my mother.

Finally we stop, on the outskirts of town.

"Are you okay?" I asked the boy.

He looked over himself. "I think so. You?"

"Fine."

We stood in silence for a few seconds.

"My name is Calis. And you are...?"

I paused for a moment. Did I want to tell him? I decided that I did.

"Rali."

His eyes flickered in understanding. "You're-"

His body jerked, and men grabbed me. Blood seeped from his chest. I cried out in shock, only to be rewarded with a punch in the head. Tears streamed down my cheeks.

"Goodbye, Calis."

After that, I had been taken and we had driven for a few kilometers. I had been marched into this prison, everything I had loved taken away from me.

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I sit in the corner, away from everyone, and cry.