Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: CHILL (10/29/15)
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TITLE: Almost there | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jack Taylor
11/02/15 -
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The scorching desert sun sucked the spit right out of four year old Amir’s mouth as he stumbled across the last steps of parched sand toward Turkey. His cheeks already carried the signs of ancient leather marking the faces of Syrian elders weary from surviving the insane clash of ideologies.
An endless river of humanity plodded on, only taking minutes to quickly bury another victim of the brutal march. “Allah, Akbar! Allah, Akbar!” The wail sounded again and again. Amir’s sister lay under one of the crude mounds disappearing into the mirage of the glistening sea of quartz, feldspar and mica.
His father was a distant memory, lost in the dust of crumbling walls and deafening booms. Amir’s screams had evaporated into choking coughs and gasps until he was pulled by strong hands into the chill of darkness. His whimpers finally were stilled in the arms of his mother.
Now, his mother, Fatim set the small plastic jerry can of precious water down on the ground, undid the cap, soaked the frayed fringe of her black niqab in a few drops and wiped the chapped lips of her son. “Suck this, sweet one,” she cooed. No other family members had survived both the bombing and the march. Amir was faint after living on a single piece of nan over the past three days.
A warrior of the wars stooped to scoop up Amir’s frail form. “Rest my little jihadist,” whispered the man. The dark beard tickled his arm. A flimsy rag was draped over his face as a shield. The days in the refugee camp faded in and out as the chill continued to claim his soul. Only the precious water drizzled onto his swollen tongue kept him struggling for one more breath.
Finally, his mother’s tearful songs, accompanied by his own jihad for life, won the battle. “Ride the camel to paradise,” sang his mother. Within days, he was hoisted again onto the back of a stranger and hauled like a bag of fava beans. His mother lifted the edge of her robe and trudged in sandaled feet behind him. He reached for her and then fell back asleep.
In the darkness, he felt the gentle rocking, heard the ancient songs, and sucked desperately on the drips of moisture forced between his teeth. There was no singing, only the snoring of those resigned to death.
Amir was aware of a bus ride that jostled him hard against his mother. He embraced a memory of taking a bus ride on his third birthday. He had gone to visit cousins or friends. They had laughed and run in a park. The next day the bombs came down. The fear of another bus ride expressed itself in quivering arms and legs.
Days and nights passed. The chilly air stole the warmth from his body. He began to focus and eat again. His mother took his hand and began to walk again until they arrived at a sea. “Lesbos! Lesbos!” shouted men. “Hurry! Hurry!”
There were people squeezed together like sardines. He held his mother’s arm as tight as he could but he was pulled from her and squeezed into a tiny space on a rubber dingy. His mother climbed in close. A life vest was quickly wrapped around him. Little children screamed. An engine started up.
A man beside his mother spoke up loudly to the group, “I’m a doctor. Cold water sucks heat from the body 25 times faster than in the air. Stay seated and hold on tight.”
From the start the sea journey was chaotic. Water lapped over the edge of the overcrowded rubber dingy. Amir’s feet and bottom grew damp. He stood and stepped up onto his mother’s lap. A young warrior at the bow screamed and the other young warrior at the helm jerked the tiller to avoid a dead body. Fatima stretched out her hand to steady herself against the edge and Amir flipped over the side. Amir heard Fatima’s screams as his body submersed in the freezing water.
The life jacket lifted him up to bob like a cork in the wake of the departing dingy. The screams of his mother faded with the whine of the engine. His body grew frigid, his confusion grew, his breathing slowed and he dreamed of visiting his grandmother.
A light grew brighter. He closed his eyes and waited. “He’s chilled, but still alive,” shouted a Greek seaman.
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