And We All Fall Down: A Short Story (Completed)
written by ☆kiola-the-iola☆
After eleven-year-old Aisha's Christian family in Iran is found with a Bible, she is kidnapped and brought to a Muslim prison camp. When she is not willing to give up her faith, she is branded a fighter. A unique kind of death sentence awaits her. She is forced to be a Muslim suicide bomber. But she will not give up her faith. A fictional short story about real live things that are happening to Christians every day in Muslim countries.
Last Updated
05/31/21
Chapters
6
Reads
823
Chapter Two
Chapter 2
My new home is a big compound. It has many soldiers and people my age hurrying like little ants. Sometimes jets buzz overhead.
I get some sleep in a barrack with other kids my age. They are all boys, though. I see girls in a different building. Why am I not with them?
They all don't look too sad to be here. Their dresses are clean.
The boys in my barrack have ghost eyes. It is like they are already dead.
Every day, we get beaten. The girls walk by quickly.
I find out that the girls are being reeducated so they can be married off to Muslim boys. They have all taken up Islam again.
But I will not. I cannot let my mama and papa down. So I am sent with the boys.
I am treated like the boys. I am given trousers like the boys. I am beaten like the boys. I am starved like the boys.
They say that if I renounce Jesus, I can go to the girls. But I will not. So I am treated like the boys.
After a week, I am too weak to do anything.
I cry out,
Jesus, help! I will die soon. Please, help me and these boys. We are being terrorized by monsters.
The next day, they give us food and let us talk. My voice is quiet because I haven't used it in so long.
I am so dirty you might think I really am a boy. But I know better. I am still God's daughter, like Mama said.
The soldiers put us to work hauling rock. I go slower than everyone else. I fear my fragile arms will break. Then, one boy shows me kindness.
"Hello. My name is Rasheed," he says. He has lots of muscles. "I am twelve," he tells me. He takes half of my rocks every time so that I can go faster.
"Why are you here?" I ask.
"My papa ignored the draft," he said. "They killed the rest of my family and brought me here. I was ten then." I gape.
"You've been here for two whole years?" I ask, my mind spinning, spinning, spinning. I think of my brothers, Izaak and Richard. Will they be dead when I am done with two years here?
Rasheed comforts me.
"It will get better. Why are you here with us, instead of with the girls?"
"Because I am a Christian," I say with my head held high. Big Beard hears me and slaps me, my face stinging, stinging, stinging.
"You are not a Christian," he growls. "You are not even a person. You are just a tool." I stomp my foot.
"I am Aisha!" Rasheed says,
"You must stop, Aisha. You must be quiet." But I will not.
They drag me, kicking and screaming, away. When we get to Big Beard's boss, I am thrown in a heap on the floor.
"She will not stop fighting. I do not know what to do with her." His boss smiles, a golden tooth winking in the lamplight.
"What do we do with all the fighters?"
"But she is not a boy!" Big Beard exclaims.
They move me anyway. Away from Rasheed. Into a barrack with bigger, scarier, bruised-all-over boys.
I cower in fear.
I get some sleep in a barrack with other kids my age. They are all boys, though. I see girls in a different building. Why am I not with them?
They all don't look too sad to be here. Their dresses are clean.
The boys in my barrack have ghost eyes. It is like they are already dead.
Every day, we get beaten. The girls walk by quickly.
I find out that the girls are being reeducated so they can be married off to Muslim boys. They have all taken up Islam again.
But I will not. I cannot let my mama and papa down. So I am sent with the boys.
I am treated like the boys. I am given trousers like the boys. I am beaten like the boys. I am starved like the boys.
They say that if I renounce Jesus, I can go to the girls. But I will not. So I am treated like the boys.
After a week, I am too weak to do anything.
I cry out,
Jesus, help! I will die soon. Please, help me and these boys. We are being terrorized by monsters.
The next day, they give us food and let us talk. My voice is quiet because I haven't used it in so long.
I am so dirty you might think I really am a boy. But I know better. I am still God's daughter, like Mama said.
The soldiers put us to work hauling rock. I go slower than everyone else. I fear my fragile arms will break. Then, one boy shows me kindness.
"Hello. My name is Rasheed," he says. He has lots of muscles. "I am twelve," he tells me. He takes half of my rocks every time so that I can go faster.
"Why are you here?" I ask.
"My papa ignored the draft," he said. "They killed the rest of my family and brought me here. I was ten then." I gape.
"You've been here for two whole years?" I ask, my mind spinning, spinning, spinning. I think of my brothers, Izaak and Richard. Will they be dead when I am done with two years here?
Rasheed comforts me.
"It will get better. Why are you here with us, instead of with the girls?"
"Because I am a Christian," I say with my head held high. Big Beard hears me and slaps me, my face stinging, stinging, stinging.
"You are not a Christian," he growls. "You are not even a person. You are just a tool." I stomp my foot.
"I am Aisha!" Rasheed says,
"You must stop, Aisha. You must be quiet." But I will not.
They drag me, kicking and screaming, away. When we get to Big Beard's boss, I am thrown in a heap on the floor.
"She will not stop fighting. I do not know what to do with her." His boss smiles, a golden tooth winking in the lamplight.
"What do we do with all the fighters?"
"But she is not a boy!" Big Beard exclaims.
They move me anyway. Away from Rasheed. Into a barrack with bigger, scarier, bruised-all-over boys.
I cower in fear.
