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 Three
Chapter 3
It's been two years since I was taken to the scary barracks. They aren't as scary anymore.
I am thirteen now. The other boys are mostly fifteen and sixteen. But I have been branded a fighter. So here I stay.
Rasheed was moved here a year after me. I introduced him to Brazi and Juko, my friends. We are all a gang now. We have to be, or the other gangs will beat us up.
No matter how hard the guards try, Jesus will not leave me heart. I have my little cross necklace to remind me of it all.
My life is very confusing. I have a Muslim best friend (Rasheed), live in barracks like in an army, and the biggest part?
I'm being trained to be an Islamic suicide bomber.
But I will not renounce my faith.
They drill the pillars of Islam into me. I can recite them in my sleep.
But I will not believe them.
I can fly a plane now, too. Soon, I will start specialized suicide bomber training.
But I will never crash a plane intentionally to hurt people. They will not get to me.
Rasheed and I walk to the mess hall and join Brazi and Juko. We are sitting down when Brazi announces,
"Big news. I was drafted. I will be in a fighter pilot squadron." We all pretend to congratulate him when soldiers are listening, but we feel sympathy. He has not been handed a clear death sentence, like Rasheed and I, but he is a fighter. So he will pay the price.
I am starting to grow into a young woman. I got my first period several months ago. One of the kitchen ladies has helped me get bras and sanitary supplies.
When I have my worst cramps, Rasheed sneaks pain relief from the officers' quarters. It is very risky. I beg him not to go, but he insists.
Every night, I pray.
Jesus, thank you for bringing me this far. Thank you for Rasheed. Thank you for Brazi and Juko. Thank you for the kitchen lady.
Please help me to stay strong in you.
Amen.
I hold my cross necklace tightly. The chain broke a long time ago, but Rasheed found me a dirty string to hang it on. He will not tell my secrets.
Every morning we wake up before the sun, yawning, yawning, yawning. We do physical training after breakfast. Then, we do flight training. I am one of the top people in class. Rasheed is another. We are good at going fast and unseen. Even though flying is the death of me, I still love it. My last moments will be in the air, which is exactly how I want it.
I know one thing. I will not hurt people with my jet. I named her Doordey. She is shiny silver all around. Beautiful.
Every day, tedious work. Every day, more Islam drilled into my head. But I will not be broken.
I am hit every day, because I say,
"I am Aisha, and I am a Christian!" The only reason they do not shoot me is because I am a good pilot.
I am thirteen now. The other boys are mostly fifteen and sixteen. But I have been branded a fighter. So here I stay.
Rasheed was moved here a year after me. I introduced him to Brazi and Juko, my friends. We are all a gang now. We have to be, or the other gangs will beat us up.
No matter how hard the guards try, Jesus will not leave me heart. I have my little cross necklace to remind me of it all.
My life is very confusing. I have a Muslim best friend (Rasheed), live in barracks like in an army, and the biggest part?
I'm being trained to be an Islamic suicide bomber.
But I will not renounce my faith.
They drill the pillars of Islam into me. I can recite them in my sleep.
But I will not believe them.
I can fly a plane now, too. Soon, I will start specialized suicide bomber training.
But I will never crash a plane intentionally to hurt people. They will not get to me.
Rasheed and I walk to the mess hall and join Brazi and Juko. We are sitting down when Brazi announces,
"Big news. I was drafted. I will be in a fighter pilot squadron." We all pretend to congratulate him when soldiers are listening, but we feel sympathy. He has not been handed a clear death sentence, like Rasheed and I, but he is a fighter. So he will pay the price.
I am starting to grow into a young woman. I got my first period several months ago. One of the kitchen ladies has helped me get bras and sanitary supplies.
When I have my worst cramps, Rasheed sneaks pain relief from the officers' quarters. It is very risky. I beg him not to go, but he insists.
Every night, I pray.
Jesus, thank you for bringing me this far. Thank you for Rasheed. Thank you for Brazi and Juko. Thank you for the kitchen lady.
Please help me to stay strong in you.
Amen.
I hold my cross necklace tightly. The chain broke a long time ago, but Rasheed found me a dirty string to hang it on. He will not tell my secrets.
Every morning we wake up before the sun, yawning, yawning, yawning. We do physical training after breakfast. Then, we do flight training. I am one of the top people in class. Rasheed is another. We are good at going fast and unseen. Even though flying is the death of me, I still love it. My last moments will be in the air, which is exactly how I want it.
I know one thing. I will not hurt people with my jet. I named her Doordey. She is shiny silver all around. Beautiful.
Every day, tedious work. Every day, more Islam drilled into my head. But I will not be broken.
I am hit every day, because I say,
"I am Aisha, and I am a Christian!" The only reason they do not shoot me is because I am a good pilot.
