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About the Middle East
Ayman watched as his mother bathed his sister’s wounds, her hands straining to conserve water. “Farah, you really must take better care of yourself.” He heard his mother chide, as Farah had been attending the religious school the men had set up in Raqqa. “It is dangerous, bombs are falling more often now.” It was true, Ayman dully noted, the sounds he heard time and time again as he tried to fall asleep at night were increasing in frequency. Even mother’s lullabies couldn’t calm Farah at night, causing him to develop eyebags that seemed to stretch to his cheeks. “Ayman, go to the market, we seem to be running out of water.” His mother said, desperation obvious in her voice. Although Ayman knew this was folly, as he had overheard that the town dam was hit by westerners, he was desperate to get out of the house and escape his sister’s cries, so he complied.
He met up with the local boys after a futile search in the market, hoping that together they would be able to scavenge something from the ruined buildings he had become so accustomed to seeing. The blazing sun scorched his skin as they weaved their way through the pieces of concrete that littered the streets of Raqqa. “Did you hear?” one of the boys said in a raspy voice “The westerners are closing in on the city, we should finally get our chance to fight for Allah!” Ayman felt only sadness, as his father had been killed fighting for the Islamic forces that inhabited the town, the same ones his mother spoke harshly about only behind closed doors and hushed tones. “I have no doubt in my mind that —” He was interrupted by a rapidly approaching propeller sound, which was not uncommon, but something was different about it this time as it was heading in the opposite direction of the hidden camp the men had set up north of the city, instead moving towards the residential area. Ayman, concerned, broke into a sprint.
He arrived to utter chaos, people running in the streets, shouting everywhere, and the overwhelming smell of sulfur in the air. He ran as he tried to clear the smoke from his eyes, dread swelling in his breast as he desperately ran towards the direction of his home. It was too late, ruin was spread along the building that he once called his home. He wanted to cry, but no tears came, and at that moment he felt truly alone in the world for the first time. He sat near the ruins of his house for what felt like days, until he heard a voice close to him that asked, “Did you know who did this?” He looked up at him with dead eyes, not comprehending the nature of the question, until he saw his telltale emblem. “My name is Hosaam, I fight for our freedom, and you could too.” Ayman sat there listening, enraptured by the healthiest looking man he had seen in years. “You have been hurt, and as the holy scripture says: Fight them, Allah will punish them by your hands and bring them to disgrace, and give you victory over them and He will heal the hearts of those who believe.”
