Meet the city of Lamae - in which the government keeps their citizens blind. Each person prides themselves for their lack of sight, believing that it is for the weak-willed. Every citizen is under the delusion that the Alhukum is good, wise, and has...
The sight of a human body getting shot is traumatizing in and of itself. The fact that it happened multiple times made my blood like ice. When he slumped to the ground, I shut my eyes tightly, biting my tongue and clawing my own head to avoid screaming or doing anything to help him.
The intercom continued to blare above us. Rebel terrorist....shot....rebel terrorist....shot....
It was a lie. It was all a lie. I swallowed, my mouth dry. Bile threatened to come out of my throat. The image of the man ricocheting against the bullet played over and over again in my mind. It was like he had been trying to run from what had shot him, what had ended his life.
That is why Lamae's population stays at six thousand. That is why they blind us.
They want to make it seem like the rebels keep us like this, when in reality it is their fault. It is our dead bodies that build the glory of this city.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to run away. But I was left there shaking, panicking, forcing myself not to whimper and so draw attention to myself. If anyone suspected that I was upset because I had actually witnessed the man getting shot, my cover would be blown.
How could I have trusted the Alhukum in this way? How could I have given them my love, my devotion, my trust when they took advantage of me to do terrible things to those around me?
A million memories flitted through my head. Memories of gatherings at my family's house, in which Jid and Jida came to us and we said a word of thanks to the Alhukum, these murderers, for their providence. Memories of Rashida being proud of them giving her a patch of being a good citizen when we were young.
I had been jealous then. Now, I wanted nothing to do with that accolade.
The worst part was that as long as the citizens of Lamae hated the rebellion....this would all continue. They would continue to stand on the dead bodies of those the Alhukum had mercilessly ended, and it would be to their own demise.
Eventually, the intercom turned on. "The threat has been abated. Please resume your duties." Each citizen stood, somewhat shaky but still intact, and paraded the streets like nothing had ever happened.
But I was about to fall apart. I might. My loved ones came to mind: Rashida, my parents. The Alhukum had killed her brother—a mere child, who would never live to see his coming-of-age, never get to marry, never get to live independently. All because of a population control experiment.
I had to find them. I had to warn them—perhaps they would listen, if someone they loved spoke sense into them. If they were in on the secret, perhaps I could get the rebellion to be truly merciful to all of us and to let us go.
No longer was I aimless. I stood at the stop where the trams came and went, and when one came, I climbed on board and directed them to my parents' home at fifteen-oh-three Almawt Lane.
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I raced off the bus, despite Lamae's no-running laws, and pounded on the door like it was a matter of life and death. My voice came out in a strangled sob. "Ammi....Baba...." My voice shook, so much so that I could barely even make out the words. My face refused to leave its contorted expression.
Ammi opened the door, feeling for my shoulders. Her eyes were gray and shone like the clasps on my sweater. "Chaima!"
She collapsed onto my neck, a few tears escaping her eyes in spite of the oath adults took not to be sad. Could tears of gratitude be in order, even if they are for the Alhukum? I wondered as I sobbed in her arms, trembling.
"Why are you crying?" Ammi asked, her own voice stuffy. She smelled like the cinnamon oil around our house, like comfort, like home. For the first time since getting my sight, I didn't feel like I was wearing someone else's skin. I felt as though I was the same person deep down inside.
It felt comfortable. I knew I was breaking Essa's warning never to interact with my family again—there would be no time for goodbyes, and it was better to let them stay here. But now I knew of the horrors of the Alhukum. What if Ammi and Baba were the next ones mercilessly slaughtered by the people they still trusted?
Nothing but cowardice would drive me to leave them behind.
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Ammi brought me inside, where Baba was waiting for me. For the first time, I could gaze upon the faces of the ones I loved—and they couldn't see me do it.
(Their faces are still etched into my memory. Baba's face is strong and has lines of age; his beard is a mixture of darkness and light. Ammi is small and dark, with lovely thick hair. Oh, God, how I do not regret getting my sight even today.)
In the moment, I was so shaken that I could not be taken aback by my surroundings. "Ammi," I said, clutching her strong hands—etched with veins. "Baba," I cried, losing control of myself and breaking down in tears yet again. "You are the ones I love. There is something terrible going on. I must tell you about it—all of Lamae is in danger."
"Danger? From the rebels?" Ammi said softly, stroking my hair. Her hands were even softer than Essa's. For a single, terrifying moment, I was tempted to avoid telling her about what was upsetting me so much. I could just move on and pretend my life hadn't been changed the day the rebels took me.
But to do that was to lie. And I was taught never to lie.
I steeled myself, my breath caught in my throat. My voice trembled. "No," I said. "It is the Alhukum."
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Tell me what you think....
● How will Chaima's parents react to her revelation?
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