Lamae | #JustWriteIt WINNER ✔

9 | Empty

"Abalah!"

The word had scarcely left my father's mouth when his hand came flying at me. And while I was sighted, it was too fast for me to dodge. My cheek stung from his blow, and I was tossed to the ground, my temple smacking against the tile of our floor.

My head had ached from crying, but it was even worse from the pain of the impact. All of my teeth could have been knocked out and it would have hurt less. A breath was forced out of my lungs as I willed my voice to work.

Fool, my own Baba had said—and just after finding out that I was alive. That sort of pain was worse than anything that had happened to me so far. I could barely muster the words to speak.

Ammi felt for me and let me rest my head against her lap. "Omar, forgive her. She suffers from post-traumatic stress—did you go to the doctor?"

I swallowed. "I did, Ammi. I'm lucid. They've cleared me. I know what I am saying."

Baba's shining gray eyes were a haze. "She's insulted the people who give us life itself!"

I shot up, my voice coming out in a holler. "They only give us death, Baba! Today I saw them gun a man down! Didn't you hear the intercoms?"

"Those were the rebels, child," Ammi said. "Do not say such things about the Alhukum."

Her cinnamon smell was no longer endearing. It was sickly sweet, and so was she. So was everyone in Lamae. Sickly sweet, pretending to be merciful.

"No, Ammi!" I said, taking her face in my hands, trying with all my might to will her to see. This was my mother, the woman who had raised me and sang songs to me at night and kissed my bruises. She was the most amazing person in the world, and she would not see.

Only empty tears flowed from her empty eyes. Her hands felt for my hips, and she gently ran them up and down my body. "Chaima....have you not forgotten what the rebels did to Abbas Najjar? They killed him, and—"

"That wasn't them!" I shouted, trembling. What did I have to do to convince her of the danger she was in? Could I bear to see her eyes even emptier, when her aging frame so beautiful and distant lay cold on the ground? In a city with a government that she had placed faith in?

"Ammi, Baba....it was the Alhukum. They were the ones who killed Abbas. They put a damn bullet through the body of a little boy who could do nothing to defend himself!"

"I am done with this!" Baba roared, feeling around for me and seizing one of my arms in a vice-like grip. He ripped me from the floor, from Ammi's arms, and dragged me toward my bedroom.

I was locked in, the door barricaded from the outside. I screamed and pounded against the door, my throat raw as I tried to clear it with brute strength, but the doors were made to protect blind people. And Baba had locked me in from the outside.

▣

My wrists were bruised from pounding on the door, and eventually I gave up, laying on my bed—which had been stripped of its sheets.

I had let it slip that I was sighted. If Baba had been paying attention, he would have known and called security to cart me away. His own daughter—his only daughter. He had condemned Abbas get gunned down by the Alhukum, but was willing to turn me over.

Abalah. Fool. But what else could I expect? My parents could not even see my face. My voice was the only thing that told them I was their daughter. And I myself had once been in their situation—blind and completely trusting the Alhukum even though it was leading them to their deaths.

But I still did not regret warning them of the danger. Maybe the rebels could still help them even if I died—although I was not able to contact them.

No. It was not if I died. It was when. Baba would either admit me into a mental institution, where they would discover I was sighted, or I would be sent straight to the prisons.

The bolts of the door to my room turned. I willed myself to roll over as it opened and....Rashida walked in. She squinted her glittering gray eyes toward me. "Chaima?"

I sat up. "Rashida. I'm over here."

Rashida rushed across the room and, after feeling for my body, encased me in a hug. I was too tired to cry anymore, but I returned her embrace. She too smelled like cinnamon.

When she pulled away, taking a chair from beside the bed, her eyes were perplexed. "Your Baba is saying you've lost your mind," she said, her voice trembling. "Or worse....that you insulted the Alhukum."

She reached forward and took one of my hands. "Please, Chaima. Tell me what happened. Did they brainwash you? Did they threaten to hurt us?" Her throat bobbed with a swallow. "I know you wouldn't join the rebels after they killed Abbas."

It had been different to rebel against Baba. He had slapped me and hurt me. But Rashida, who was so gentle that she didn't even speak in the presence of an adult without their say—who was such a good person that she would bring cookies to the houses of those the 'rebels' had killed....

I lowered my head. This would be the toughest decision I ever made. As my other hand trailed to rest against her cheek, I spoke. "You are my best friend."

She trembled as she leaned closer to me. I took a shuddering breath. "I was sighted by the rebels, Rashida. And I can see things that others cannot. Things that the Alhukum is glad you cannot see."

Rashida's hand went slack in mine, and she stood from the chair, her breathing heavy. My voice was weaker than that of a newborn child's. "Rashida, it was the Alhukum that killed Abbas. The rebels are good people. They want you to find the truth—can you not see it?"

But as the words left my mouth, I realized the sheer uselessness of what I was saying. Anyone who is blind would never understand. 

◈◈◈

Tell me what you think....

● What will happen to Chaima now that she's exposed herself?

● Why did she bother telling her loved ones if she knew it was likely they wouldn't listen?