Leilani - Running From The Taliban

• Aoide Andronikos, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2018

‘BANG! BANG!’ I am running for my life. The Taliban are coming for me. I have seen them with their guns, searching for me through the piles of dead people who I don’t even know, innocent people who lost their lives because of me. They scan all areas of my village, eliminating anyone or anything that gets in their way. “Where is she?” They scream. “Where is the girl you call Leilani?”

Ever since I started speaking out for girls’ rights, the Taliban have been trying to discover my identity. As soon as they realised my name was Leilani Yoseff, they hired an assassin to kill me.

As I sprint past my village, the Taliban catch sight of me. “There she is!” They bellow. “There is Leilani!” All I want is for the Taliban to leave my village and I alone, but now I see that they won’t leave until I am dead.

I see my best friend Monica run up to the Taliban, trying to distract them so I can hide, but the Taliban will stop at nothing to reach me, and shooting Monica almost dead was a rather gruesome example of their purely evil determination.

As I watch Monica fall to the ground, blood gushing out of the bullet wound in her arm, I am filled with such rage that I scream out in horror, “How dare you shoot my best friend? It is me that you want!” Which I immediately regret, as it brings the Taliban back into focus. I hear the Taliban Chief snap, “Wake the assassin! It’s time to end this chase!” And I realise I cannot keep running. I must turn and face my fears.

I see the Chief hand the assassin his deadly gun and as soon as the assassin gets his hands on the bloody, evil thing, he reloads, aims, and BANG! The first bullet misses. Filled with rage, the assassin reloads, aims, and BANG! Again, he misses, but not by much. As he reloads and aims for the third time, an evil grin crosses his face as he pulls the trigger. I feel the pain of being shot a few seconds after that bullet went through my face. I fall to the ground, thinking I am dead.

I can feel the vibration of the Taliban’s feet moving away from me, retreating as they think that they have accomplished their mission; but I am not dead, not yet. The bright sun forces my eyes shut as a noisy rescue helicopter lands beside me, and some professional medics hop out with a stretcher. As I am lifted into the helicopter, I notice lots of medical equipment that I have never seen before. I try to raise my head up a little to get a better look, but I black out after the slightest shift. The last thing I hear before falling unconscious is the WOCCA WOCCA of the helicopter’s propeller, and that was when I realised I had an actual hope of survival.