Flying with the Angels

I run, my feet pounding on the cobbled street, my short brown hair getting ruffled by the wind and soaked by the rain. My ears are filled with the loud sounds of explosions, ambulance sirens, cries of people, my own heaving, and the rain. When was the last time it was silent here? It feels like I have never heard peace in my life.

Another sound adds to the throbbing of my head. My baby sister cradled in my arms begins to cry louder. I hug her to my chest. “Just a little bit more, and we’ll be there” I huff. Her cries grow louder, echoing in my skull. I feel like sobbing with her. She must be in pain. I stop, breathing hard. I have reached the hospital. My heart swells with relief, slowing its frantic hammering in my chest. Her crying fades, and she goes stiff. Please let her only be sleeping. 

I push through the crowd inside, a sea of people with injuries of every kind. There are thousands of cuts and burns to the eyes and stomach, while almost all have bleeding hands. I shove my way through, spotting a tall doctor walking toward a white door. I rush in front of him, blocking his path, and my eyes look up at him pleading. “Sir, please check my sister. One… one of the explosions struck us.” He hesitates, looks to the door, then back to me, nods and softly takes her from my trembling hands. 

A series of expressions pass across his face when he looks over to the, hopefully, sleeping baby. “Follow me,” he says. He turns and leads me through several doors. My mind races, replaying the moment he looked at her. Why did he seem so alarmed? Did he possibly think tha—

“Over here.” The doctor enters a white room. Why is all of the hospital so blindingly white? He puts my motionless sister down on a white bed and asks me to sit down on a white chair. “Ok boy, what’s your name?” he asks.

“Yusuf,” I sniff. “Is she hurt?” My only worry is my sister. The white sheet on the bed has started to get soaked with blood.

“How old are you?”

“Ten. Why is she not moving?”

“Yusuf, where are your parents?” He sighs.

Frustration springs in my heart. Why is he not helping her? Why is he asking me so many questions? 

“Just tell me if my sister is okay.” I pause and remember to be respectful just like Mama taught me. “Please.”

His head tilts to the side, his hazel eyes filled with pity. 

“She… she is flying with the angels, up in heaven.” he pauses. “We can keep her with us to bury, but I have to talk to your parents…” He continues but I do not understand a word. The sound of my heart beating faster and faster is overwhelming his words. What does he mean, with the angels? She is right here, how can she be with angels! My chest tightens as dread creeps in. 

He is still blabbing. Rambling on like there is not a problem in the world. He is a terrible doctor, I decide. He should be checking and inspecting her. He should have told me before. He should… No, he is wrong. I shake my head and get up. He is still talking as I pick my sister off the bed and dash through the door into the busy hospital. 

I try to flee the truth, but the tall doctor grabs me by the shirt and ushers me into his office. 

“It’s not your fault, you know. She’s in a better place now.” he whispers. 

I cry rivers until my eyes feel empty and my chest aches. 

************

It is funny how excited I was for Halloween this year. That had been my only thought while walking with my family, before the building beside us exploded, sending debris all around. I was daydreaming about how our French teacher, who seemed to love this time of year, would put on a costume and try to scare us. She would give us all treats and show us a horror movie. Those were the times I made the best memories in school. What a silly thought since they have closed school anyway, using the buildings as shelters. 

This Halloween we do not have to watch horror movies to be horrified. Because now, the horror is real. The horror of waking up to fighter jets and eating breakfast to the sound of missiles zooming down and exploding. The horror of thinking that we might just be next to be found in the ruins and put among the never ending bodies of martyrs. 

The only difference from Halloween is that we are not afraid. No matter how many jets they fly over us, houses they bomb, or children they kill. They do not scare us, because they have hell getting ready for them. Us martyrs, we go to heaven. Even if we die, we know that the resistance has not. The resistance pumping through all our veins every second of every day. For that we are not scared of dying and we, at any cost, will keep our heads high and our legs walking down the right path.