Aaron was angry but he knew Sahar could not just be a liar. It was hard to imagine that she was a terrorist. Lieutenant Mike left the room and two guards cover the gate. It was decided Sahar will not be going home. Maybe jail, maybe the gallows but not home. Aaron holds Sahar's hand and asked once again, "What's your story?" Sahar stopped crying; Aaron handed her a glass of water. Whatever the past maybe but without Sahar, Aaron would not be sitting here. He would have been sealed in a box and be parceled to his home country.
Sahar had saved him and took a bullet for him. There was a Sarah who had appeared in the front of their Humvee, she had warned them and saved them. And then there was another Sarah, the Sarah in the file Lieutenant Mike had left on the bed side table. Aaron wanted to know how these two Sarah could be one person. In a few normal worlds these two personalities would never come face to face with each other. But these was not a normal world this was the desert filled with guns and wars. And it is so violent that it made Sarah to carry these two polar personalities concealed into one body. A teacher and a terrorist.
Sahar sipped the water slowly and started, "I was ten, my brother thirteen. We were happy, or less miserable I don't remember. But we were a family. Then came a missile. It burned our house and my parents. There was no one to blame, no one to be held accountable. I mean where could we even go to lodge a complaint. It was a missile. Something of metal, something that burned my parents and left me and my brother on the streets. We were devastated, we cried-we cried, we cried a lot and then we were hungry, we wanted food. We stopped crying and started to dig the rubble of our house for food."
We hurt our fingers, when we finally found the food, the food half burnt and mixed with mud, it hurt to hold it. We still ate, we cried with pain but we ate. But for how many days we could dig. A truck came by one night and it brought food, water, some blankets. I missed the blankets the dessert nights are super chilly. The sun burnt us in the day and the moon froze us in the night. We ate the food, took the blankets and went to sleep in the truck. A metal floor was better than sleeping on a rubble, where you parents got burned.
We opened our eyes, with sounds of gunfire and grenade blast. It was a different place. We were away from our house, the house that did not existed anymore. Me and my brother looked around. We were surrounded by mountains. We did not understand then but we were in a terrorist camp. There were men with guns, running around. There were a lot of kids too. Of our age, some younger and some older. It was better than sitting in a rubble. Truth is we even liked it there. We forgot our sorrows and miseries. There were so many girls and boys of my age too play with.
My brother however had a strict routine, he would be woken very early in the morning and used to be away almost the whole day. He used to come to us in evening tired, sometimes bruised. I would walk on his back and help him get rid of the soreness. Then after some months he stopped needing me. He went sent away for days, he had become stronger and more muscular. Something about him had changed. He used to love me like before but he wasn't my old brother. I had changed too. I used to look after the kids who were younger than me. I had become more responsible. Turned out there were many unfortunate kids and the best thing that they could get in their life was a terrorist camp.
One day my brother woke me up from sleep. The sun was not up yet. It was still dark. The moon shined and chilly air blew. I hated him for waking me up for ruining my sleep. I asked him if he wanted to sleep in my blanket. He laughed and said no, I am going. "Going where" I asked. "To talk to the people who took away our home, our parents, our lives," my brother said. I was surprised, "have you found them" I asked. "Yes," he replied they will pay for what they have done to us. Wish me luck. I pray for daily my brother but when will you come back. Soon he said. We hugged for the last time. I saw him leaving. I did not go to see him off, I was too comfortable in my blanket to go out in the cold.
I regret not spending more time with him. Because I never saw him again. I waited for months. He had said he would be back soon. But he never returned. One day I was called on the training grounds by the men. They asked to me pick up a gun, I refused. I did not like weapons. They asked how far I can through. They wanted me to show them my throw with a grenade. I declined. What was all this about I asked them. They asked If I missed my brother, I replied yes of course. Then throw this grenade. I declined again.
Then came a man, his face was covered with the cloth of his turban. He holds my shoulders and gave me the news I was not prepared for. I was told my brother was dead. I was told first they burned my house, burned my parents and then they killed my brother too. I said yes. I wanted to train myself. I wanted revenge. I was too young when my parents were taken. But now I was old enough to be angry. I cried, not with sorrow but with anger. They will pay for my brother's death.