Vision in Red by Sajjad Rasool - HTML preview

Children of Olive

She didn't wait. She grabbed Yasmin's arm.

"Walk," she hissed. "Don't run. Walk."

They walked past the metal detectors, past the x-ray belts. The soldiers were shouting into their radios, distracted by the smoking turnstile. The crowd behind them was shouting, surging against the broken gate.

Amal and Yasmin slipped through the chaos. They pushed through the final exit doors and stepped out into the chilly, pre-dawn air of the bus terminal.

They were in.

Part II: The White Teeth

The bus to Damascus Gate was a silent vessel.

Twenty Palestinians sat in the seats, staring out the windows. No one spoke. The exhaustion of the checkpoint had drained the words out of them. They were just relieved to be on the other side.

Amal sat by the window, clutching her bag. The key had cooled down. It lay dormant, a lump of heavy sleep in her lap.

Next to her sat an elderly woman in a faded embroidered thobe. She was holding a plastic bag full of mint.

"You made it through," the woman said. Her voice was soft, melodic.

"Barely," Amal admitted.

"The machine is angry today," the woman said, nodding. "My nephew... he went through last week. He swiped his card."

She paused, plucking a mint leaf and crushing it between her fingers. The smell filled the bus.

"And?" Amal asked.

"He went through," the woman said. "But his shadow stayed on the other side."

Amal went cold. "What do you mean?"

"The machine kept it. Usef—that's his name—he came home, but he was light. Too light. The wind could blow him away. And when he walked in the sun... nothing. No shadow."

She looked at Amal with terrified eyes.

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