Vision in Red by Sajjad Rasool - HTML preview

Children of Olive

Amal looked at the drawing on Noor's lap. It wasn't a picture of a soldier or a watcher this time. It was a picture of a box. A black square with jagged lines coming out of it. But the box was broken. Cracked down the middle.

"We broke the box," Amal whispered, tracing the line on the paper. "Yes, Noor. We made it stop."

Noor nodded seriously. She picked up a yellow crayon —bright, cheerful yellow—and began to color over the black box. She was covering the darkness with light.

"Good," Noor said. "Because I have a new song I want to sing."

Amal felt tears prick her eyes. She leaned forward and kissed her daughter's forehead. "I want to hear it, Noor. Tomorrow, I want to hear it loud."

"Loud," Noor agreed.

Amal watched her daughter color for a long time, listening to the scratch of the crayon, the steady rhythm of Fadi’s breathing from the other room, the distant sounds of the city. These were the sounds of life. The sounds of resistance.

And as she listened, she made a promise to the silence waiting outside.

You can try to take our voices, she thought. But you will choke on them.

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