December 24th Kabul, Afghanistan


The father laughed as he brought the glass to his lips, tipping the delicious wine down his throat. He grinned around at his wife and eight year old son, both of whom smiled back and laughed. They talked merrily without a care in the world. All hate, violence, and grudges were forgotten that cool winter night. The stars were unusually bright that evening and cast their silver glow on the old house. The father looked at the bundle of blankets in the mother’s arms: his newborn son. He could not have been happier that night, knowing that Allah had blessed their family. It was moments like these that made life worth living. The mother and her son noticed tears of happiness welling up in the crinkled corners of the father’s eyes as the family embraced, knowing that as long as they had each other they were safe; no harm would come to them. Love had brought them together and nothing could tear them apart.

There was a sudden crash as the door was blown off its hinges. The mother screamed and clutched the bundle of blankets to her chest, protecting the jewel inside with her own body. There was a gunshot and the father collapsed into a lifeless bundle of limbs, staring at the ceiling through unseeing eyes. The son, too young to understand what was happening, tugged on his father’s clothes, yelling for him too wake up, screaming for him to move. But there was no answer. The killer slowly turned his gun on the boy who was crouching next to his dead father, tears cascading down his face like a waterfall. The mother screamed something at the boy. The boy did not move; he kept his gaze on the man, whose face was a mask of evil. Slowly the boy’s grief became anger, his anguish became fury, and his wisdom became a thirst for blood. With a yell of misery, the boy launched himself on to the man, who was caught by surprise and fired bullets at random. Lights shattered and darkness enveloped the room. One hit the boy in the arm. The pain was excruciating but was converted into adrenaline as anger took over the boy’s body. He lunged for the man’s throat. The man just laughed and threw aside the boy like he weighed nothing, smiled malevolently, and shot him in the leg. Now the boy felt the pain and it was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. His whole body was on fire and the flames began their relentless binge from the wounds. A few incoherent words were said triumphantly by the intruder and he left. With difficulty, the boy turned to see his newborn brother soaked in blood. The baby was not crying and the boy, fearing the worst, searched his sibling’s body for a wound. But there wasn’t one. Confused, the boy turned his attention away from the baby and saw something that he would never forget. His mother lay on the ground with a bullet hole in her back. That sight was burned into the boy’s head forever and he knew that it would plague him for the rest of his life, the knowledge that he was the one that provoked the man to shoot. The boy ran over to her, and shook her, slapped her, even strangled her but the boy knew that his parents had left him and were together at peace. The boy let out a primeval wail of agony and fell down clutching his hair and sobbed uncontrollably. Sounds of screaming filled the air but the boy ignored it. He was an orphan now. What would he do? What could he do? His parents’ deaths were his fault. Why had he not attacked the man as soon as he came in? Why had he been so weak as to watch his parents get shot without doing anything? Why had he been so pathetic? Why would his legs not move? It was his fault that his parents died. He must take his own life. The baby woke up and began crying, trying to wipe the disgusting crimson liquid off his face with his tiny hands. The older brother forgot all else and knew what he had to do. He kissed both his parents and closed their eyes. He looked at them one last time. The only two people who had ever loved him. He would never feel their warm embrace, never see their cheerful laughs, never talk to them ever again. The boy had to choke down a sob as he picked up his brother with one hand and opened the door with the other. He had to be brave. The sun had not yet risen and the darkness made the boy feel calmer, more relaxed. No one would see him in the cover of night. There was no one around anyway. All signs of aggression had leaving only the melancholy silence of death. The disgusting smell of freshly spilt blood polluted his brain and he gagged. He ran through the night, ignoring the stabbing pains in his shoulder and legs. Although blinded by the pain and general darkness, he knew his way around the city with his eyes closed. He had passed these buildings every day in the past. But that was the past, and it was something that the boy could not change. Everything seemed so normal. But the older brother knew that he would never be normal again. He wiped the tears from his face with hands covered in the blood of his loved ones. It was cold, so cold, but the boy ran still faster. Sharp winds like daggers cut into his face so that his own blood mingled with that of his family. The baby now weighed a ton in his tired arms and the boy cursed himself for being so weak and ploughed on. He would make sure at the least that his baby brother would be safe from harm. If anything happened, the boy would have no choice but to join his parents. He eventually deposited his baby brother on the steps of an elaborate manor house and said a prayer, but he didn’t know who it was directed to. Why had The Almighty allowed his family to be slaughtered? What did they do wrong? What kind of merciful god would let his own children kill each other? He felt the anger bubbling inside him, but then his shoulders sagged. Who was he to question the will of the deathless? And He spared the older brother. Why? There must be a reason. He was counting on the brother to fulfill his destiny, whatever that might be. The baby wailed, hugging himself and the blankets to try to keep warm. The blankets were soaked in blood. The older brother took his own untainted clothes off and switched it with the bloody blanket. The baby stopped wailing and fell asleep in the warm cotton. The older brother was shivering, having wrapped the blood-soaked blanket around himself. He looked up. The stars, millions of them, were winking at him. A smiling moon shone over him and made him feel warm and good inside. He turned to his newborn brother and tears again welled up in his eyes. He allowed them to fall and they dropped onto the tarmac ground noiselessly. The boy kissed his brother on the forehead and grasped his tiny little hands for the last time before bending down and whispering in his ear.

“Goodbye little brother. Take care of yourself. I promise that I will find you soon.”
And then he ran away into the wilderness without looking back.