The Other Side Of Peace

• Ned Brown, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2022

(Dina POV)

The air turned black all around me as I collapsed to the ground, was this where my story ends? Drowning in a pool of war, violence and abuse? No! It can’t end this way it can’t! I have to find someone, they are the only chance I have left. But I know my time is up, my vision is fading and I’ll be forgotten like all the children, men and women who have died at the hands of these Modern Day Nazis. Mother, Father, all I ever knew, my life is torn away like a piece of paper caught up in a hurricane. My head, filled with stress, rage, torment and grief. My eyes weak and heavy with the weight of all I have seen. I fought through, right until the end but I shall die alone and forgotten.

(Second Person POV)

Rubble clattered away and tumbled next to where she lay. She tried to lift her head but her muscles gave up. Something caught her eye as it fell down the ditch where she lay. The last thing she saw was a gloomy face peering at me through the black smoke and the heartless yells of the Taliban.

Her body jumped as her eyes opened and darted around the old grey room. Where am I? “You’re up.” Dazed and confused, she cocked her head and saw a boy sitting on a ruined table, he was wearing a gritty, red jumper, his hair stained black from all the smoke caused by the inability to outrun the perils of this country. With pure instinct Dina pulled her pocket knife from her pants and flicked it up. The boy slowly raised his hands and started smirking. She jabbed the air in front of him, this isn’t usually considered a laughing matter.
“What’s So Funny?” She demanded, it was clear she was afraid. You could hear the terror in her voice as it quivered. Heart pumping, confused and weary she sat down.

The boy blankly replied, “That knife.” “The knife.” She said and looked down, it was quite puny, maybe three inches long and rusted. “It couldn’t injure a mouse.”
The boy approached her and reached an arm out. She noticed he was young, no more than thirteen. He was wearing old torn leather jeans stained red from the dust of the barren country that ‘used’ to be Afghanistan. “Malik” he stated. Uneasily her hand moved to his. Limbs aching and muscles strained, she heaved out the words, “Dina.” She eventually came to trust Malik. She explained her story. Her family had been forced to leave Afghanistan because the rule of the Taliban began to expand. The conversation was short lived as she heard voices outside. Adrenaline was high in their frail bodies, they froze as the door creaked open. A green object appeared, it lay on the ground. Stained in dust from the dying Earth. Ringing pounded in Dina’s ears as all went black.

She was now alone and forgotten.