Shatters of glass crumbles down the walls of the bunker. A smell of fired ammunition fills the hollow space underground, as if fresh, clean air was a luxury. I sit still. I sit waiting patiently. I slouch, leaning against the unstable walls of the underground prison. A prison full of ready bodies willing to fight the Soviets, but instead we are trapped in hiding, like scared girls hiding from their abusive husbands. But I’m not afraid. I would die with honour for this country. We count our days since our last meal, the last day we saw sunlight, the last time we laughed uncontrollably about something funny, scratching in another line to our count. But then I remember why I am here. The overwhelming feeling of pride and sacrifice swallows me …show more content…
Some days the boys and I will be sitting here waiting. Waiting for anything to happen because the worst of it was when it drags on in the quiet, the stillness and the empty land above us, barren and inhabitable. Other days we will be scared, terrified even. I remember the day when we were raided for the first time. Thousands and thousands of aircrafts soared above us. The sound of the bombs dropping, exploding as it touches the ground, the shaking bunkers was the worst of it. A sand storm swarmed inside, gassing the small tight space. But nothing compared to witnessing another solider taking their last breath of air. Their lungs sucking in the last taste of oxygen their lips would feel. I witnessed the gunshots, the exploding of bombs. The fragments of their body flying in the breeze, landing miles apart from where their head laid, shredded into pieces. I watched as their shattered bones cracked and crunched as another raced past on top of them. I heard the screams of pain and the screams for help. Their blood rushing out of their bodies like a waterfall, covering the ground, only to be absorbed by the dirt. The blood would turn the dirt into mud. The slouching footing was a constant reminder of how precious it is to be alive. How quickly you could be …show more content…
RUN! RUN!” Screams echoes down the bunker. Hundreds of bodies swarm through the tight bunker, like the beginning of a marathon where everyone fights for the front position. BANG, BANG, BANG! Bullets fired behind us, explosions deafening enough to make your ears ring. Voices scream with panic with disarming belief that after one hundred and seventeen days under ground we were finally being attacked. Empty bodies stacked the base of the bunkers, my eyes search for my brother. Praying that with every soulless face lying distorted on the cold ground wasn’t Ahmad’s. In this moment, as you see your life flash before you eyes, you think of home. I imagine dinner on Sunday night, we would all gather around the sofa. Mammy would of prepared rice with some new recipe her ladies from prayer gave her. Laila would rush over and eat so quickly to get back to reading that book or answering that question. Maybe even the neighbours would have been invited over. Maybe Laila would of invited Tariq for dinner. The thought of home gave me reassurance, clarity to what I have achieved in life. The ground beneath me began to shake. The sand began to blow along the path. I hear the faint cries for help, the pleas for forgiveness. Above us I hear the aircrafts zooming overhead. I hear ringing in my ears, the stomping of the ground above us. The bunker begins to shake, the walls crumble, dirt collapsing, suffocating the unconscious