Ammar ran through the tattered and broken streets of his once beautiful home. The sun was beating down on his tan skin that would have been bare if not for the few rags he had on, and he felt his blood pulsing through his veins. He dodged the fallen homes and the bricks that found themselves in middle of the road. He jumped over the cracks in the floor and large rocks that sat in wait to trip him up. He turned and looked out onto the war-torn city that stood broken before him. Smoke bellowed out of the many buildings that ran across the wide stretch, the wind blowing dust into Ammar's eyes as he stared out at his home. He battered his eyelashes and turned, the glum shadows of pain and anger darkening his skin. The cries of his family and friends could be heard from miles away even after they had become silenced. Though many tried to escape, walls blocked off every route. This country was like a prison, except rather than shutting the criminals out, it shut them in.
Ammar was nothing but a young boy, but he remembered when his home was a paradise that brought tourists in from all over the world. To see the fountains and mansions on every street, or the expensive cars parked at every corner. When the trees were green and tall, and no dust polluted the air. When people could walk down the streets freely, worry or fear not haunting them as it did now. When no war was here to destroy his home. He smiled proudly at the thought, before the ground rattled and a crash was heard in the distance; Ammar was reminded why he was running to begin with.
He looked back, the men who had been chasing him with guns and knives had caught up, and the bread he had stolen from their camp was stale as he clutched it, hoping to feed his malnourished younger sister who was alone in their destroyed home. Ammar ran down the hill and turned again, listening to the shouts and cries that echoed in his mind. Gunshots flew past him and he jumped in to the ruins of another home for another family, landing harshly on his knee. He got up swiftly, ignoring the searing pain that burned throughout his leg and climbed under the broken door posts, before running out. The shouts grew louder as he made his way to his sister. He ran past the familiar streets, his breathing becoming heavy and harsh as he clutched the precious bread within his right hand, hoping to get there before they did. However, Ammar was not expecting smoke to be rising from his own home as he stood before it. He walked the final steps and stared at the house that had caved in on its self. The bread fell from his hand as he looked down and saw a bullet fly through his chest.
I'm sorry that my first short story was such a sad one, but I hope you enjoyed reading it none the less. I will be uploading as much as I can. Thank you for reading.
- Dima
