Imagine It . . .
Imagine it: the wind outside has a slight bite to it. It is heralding in the reign of winter which will bring frost and cold and, yes, even snow. The dirt fields baked hard and dry by the summer suns will receive the gentle blanket of snow as winter descends.
That chill seeps in through the concrete or mud blocks of the home where you live, and finally you are thankful for the thick heavy rugs and blankets lining the walls. Now, as the early morning light starts to filter in through the windows and open doorways out in the hallway, you snuggle down into your thin mattress a little tighter, trying your very best to hold onto the sweet tendrils of sleep.
Sleep is your living paradox these days. Some nights it is the sweetest escape, the only place where warmth, the kind that eases the tension in your heart, and laughter feel real and genuine, where you feel free and can forget. But the other nights it seems the darkness will never end and you will never again feel fully human. They are swarming with monsters and you feel more exhausted when you wake then when you fell asleep.
But this morning, as the cold wiggles its way into your blankets, your eyes pop open, and a glimmer of excitement enters them. You fold up your blankets as best as you can and pull on a sweater over your long-sleeved tee-shirt.
You wrestle your brother over a pair of slippers and hop into the kitchen to warm up by the boiling tea pot. There is a loaf of bread left over from last night’s dinner, and you happily tear into it, dancing around the little stove in an effort to warm up.
Your mom is already sweeping the floor, and your father is having is second cigarette of the day in the doorway, watching the way the sun sweeps across the valley. There are mountains off in the distance, and just yesterday you heard the rumbles of airstrikes in Mosul, just miles away behind the mountain where the village you now call ‘home’ is nestled.
Your older brother left over an hour ago for the long walk to school in a refugee camp on the edge of the town nearby. But you aren’t able to walk far enough and your family doesn’t have access to a car. The news broke your heart when . . . read the rest here.