My family discreetly takes our little belongings that we have chosen to bring along, and we make our way out through the back door of our house. Out in the main road, there are soldiers of both our country's and the other's running up and down, fighting off each other or trying to find any more citizens to kill. Both sides wear dull colored uniforms, except that the other country is armed with bayonets instead of guns, and they have grenades at their disposal.
We safely make our way to the refugee camp where we are promised to be looked after and be safe from harm. It looks like a large circus tent, with bold colors of red and yellow in a striped pattern. However, due to all the dust and harsh weather we have been having, the color has begun to fade and lose its strong complexion.
We enter the place and take the bread and milk that is provided on the table. Funny how though we are in war, there is still so much food left to go stale and rotten.
Days should have passed since we first arrived at the refugee camp, and everything seems to be fine, until a man dressed in a dark grey uniform enters the tent early one morning, and informs us of the bad news.
Our country has surrendered.
According to him, however, the other country has decided to be nice to the refugees, and will grant us access to live in their communities in our own country, though we will be under constant surveilance and have rationings on food. Of course, nobody likes this idea, but it is a far better prospect that we choose to grasp as compared to being executed with a bayonet through our throat. Our family has no qualms about going through with this, for at least we should still be able to live together. Only as I think this, the man suddenly adds in one more detail.
"For each family to pass through, one person must be left behind."
The sentence rings through my head like a loud cymbal (or as loud as one can get in a dream), and I feel like a large trident-shaped arrow has shot straight through my heart. I know I should be dumb to think that I would rather preserve my own life above others in my family, but this is how I feel as the silence spreads through the other families and groups present. I turn to look at my family, their faces showing the exact same thoughts that we are all thinking. Just then, my mother speaks up.
"I will stay."
I am filled with shock and an unexplainable stubborness. On one hand, I would vehemently refuse this suggestion, and beg her to take back her words, but on the other hand volunteering to sacrifice one's life for the survival of others sends a tiny wave of relief through my mind. Much as I am guilty to admit the existence of these feelings, they are definitely present in all members of the family. Still, all logic aside, I know that I cannot bear to let my mother do something like that, I love her too much.
Her final decision, however, does not change. She has made her choice, and her choices are always absolute with no arguments taken. The small metaphorical puncture that has been made through my heart starts ripping an even larger (metaphorical) gash as I realize that i will Never get to see her again, lest give her a proper burial-if my mind wishes to acknowledge that such a procedure is required for someone who was alive not more than a second ago.
Time has passed since then.
I am living back in my old house, everything seems normal. The trees are as green as ever, the road is as smooth and unblood-stained like before, and the surroundings are peaceful and quiet, with the faint noise of cars coming from the road near the back. It looks just like an ordinary day, except that the scene is at my old house at Holland Road. I'm standing in the kitchen with my maid, and we are simply talking. Something suddenly reminds me of my mother, and her face starts to reappear in my memory, especially those moments when we laughed or had fun together. The ache returns, and I start to cry. I wish with all sincerity and hope that (since it's a dream) she would step out of a cab at the gate to our estate, dressed in her usual casual-style work clothes, smiling her usual slighty-exhausted smile. That I would be able to run down and give her a big hug and let myself cry all over again, while she stroked my hair and told me it was alright between chuckles.
Until I remember her cheeks were slit to save my soul.
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this was a horrible dream...i hated it...when i woke up my mom was drawing open my curtains, so i got up straight away and gave her a BIG hug till she started laughing and told me to "go and shower!" T_T
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