Vision in Red by Sajjad Rasool - HTML preview

Children of Olive

The morning light was growing stronger now, filling the room with the soft gold of early sun. Whatever had been outside the window —if anything had been there at all—was gone now, dissolved by daylight or retreated into whatever shadow it had come from.

Amal pulled her daughter into a hug, feeling the small warm body against her chest, the bird-quick flutter of Noor's heartbeat.

"Listen to me," she said quietly. "Whatever you see outside the window, whatever you dream, whatever pictures come into your head—I want you to promise me something."

"What?"

"Don't stop seeing them. Don't close your eyes. Don't pretend they're not there."

Noor looked up at her, confused. "But you told me before to ignore the scary things. You said if I didn't pay attention, they would go away."

"I know. I was wrong." Amal brushed a strand of hair from her daughter's face. "Some things don't go away when you stop looking. Some things get worse. So we have to keep looking, even when it's hard. We have to remember, even when everyone else wants to forget. Can you do that?"

Noor nodded solemnly. "I can do that."

"Good." Amal stood, took her daughter's hand. "Now let's get breakfast. You have school today."

They walked out of the room together, mother and daughter, leaving behind the window and whatever might or might not have been standing outside it. The apartment filled with the ordinary sounds of morning—water running, bread toasting, the radio playing news that Amal did not listen to.

But the drawings were still in the kitchen drawer. And the questions were still in her mind. And somewhere in the city, in the shadow of a checkpoint or a burned car or a hospital room where a six-year-old girl fought for her life, other drawings were being made.

Other eyes were being colored red.

Other children were seeing things that adults couldn't—or wouldn't—acknowledge.

And in all the places where violence had been done and forgotten, figures stood motionless in the dust.

Waiting.

Watching.

Unblinking.

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