Fardeen

• Ella Martin, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2008

Times are hard in my country, Afghanistan at the moment. The Taliban treat us so poorly, and we have to be extra careful at the moment. There are three children in my family, and each of us has different meanings for our names. There is the youngest Asifa her name means clean and pure, Dilawar my brother which means brave, and then there is me Fardeen which means spring! I’ve always complained to my modar about my name, but she says one day I will under stand the beauty of my name. My family at the moment is very worried because soon the Taliban will want me to come and fight for them! Sometimes I can’t sleep, because I am thinking about Padar. A few months ago Padar was taken away to fight for the Taliban, since then modar has not been the same. She sleeps all the time and I can sometimes hear her crying secretly, to herself. I think I am old enough to understand her troubles, so I am wondering why she will not talk to me. She acts so strong all the time, but I can see right through her, she is lonely, sad and frightened, just like me.
One after noon while Asifa was playing in the garden, we heard a long, shrill scream.
Within that second I was out side, looking at Asifa, but some one else was there too. I saw two black boots standing in front of me; I looked up and saw a tall middle aged soldier. For a moment we all stood there staring at each other, but after what seemed like for ever the soldier said what I had been dreading for months, “you have to come with me, and I would advise you not to make this difficult.” I could see my sister was as frightened as I was, so I put my hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

I wonder what my brother Dilawar would have done in this situation. I was never like my brother, he took after his name and I took after mine. The van that I was in was so dark, I couldn’t see where we were going, but I think they did that on purpose. They were driving so recklessly, like they didn’t care about their lives, or any one else’s. We drove for hours; at least it felt like that to me any way. At last we stopped; I think it was their official area. They threw a Hessian sack over my head; they weren’t going to make any mistakes.
They didn’t take the bag off my head until I got to my cabin, but even that room was as dark as the night.

Every day I just lay on my bed, until one day I got so sick that they threw me out of the camp. Now I was all alone. Now I am at a detention center and told about the beautiful and lucky country that one day I just may get to live in, called Australia.