After the Bomb English Extension 1 Creative

[StudyBuddyKJ]

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A Promise
Set In Kabul, Afghanistan, 1979 in a rural village
Rays of the Afghan sun bore down mercilessly upon Azmia’s curved spine, already bogged down in supporting her heavy, tattered backpack. Azmia lightly stroked her forehead- slightly moist with sweat, her futile effort in controlling her upcoming headache. “Just a few blocks more…you are almost there,” whispered she through parched, cracked lips that curled into a grimace as she felt another large throb in her temple. She simply could not wait to reach her home. Not that it was much cooler- her family couldn’t afford a fan, but at least there was shade and her mother’s delicious home-made ice-cream to look forward to.
A piercing scream interrupted Azmia’s reverie. She shook her head, dazed and confused. Hundreds and hundreds of people were sprinting past her, wearing tattered rags for clothing and looks of despair and fear on their grimy faces. Azmia recognised Abdul, the local barber bumping past her, followed by a dishevelled man with half a moustache hanging off his face. A loud boom reverberated behind them, followed by shrill wails of despair.
Azmia was now wide alert, her headache forgotten. Stumbling past them, she reached the familiar sign that read ‘Welcome to Golzar, Kabul”, in Arabic. Her eyes widened in shock and a loud cry emitted from her mouth, as she saw what lay in front of her.
A scene of total devastation awaited her eyes. Billows of smoke emanated from the surrounding thatched cottages, compounding within the ashy air like the fiery breath of a snarling dragon. The ground was covered with a thick layer of rubble and crumbled stone with sharp jagged edges.  The tops of thousands of thatched cottages were caught by bright orange flames that danced and crackled forebodingly, smiling viciously at the stream of civilians rushing back and forth, covering the tops of their heads. The tear-streaked faces of children were glossed with blood as they wailed incessantly within the bosoms of their parents’ corpses that drowned in the midst of debris.  Soldiers dressed in green military uniform were stumping to and fro, carrying long rifles. Azmia stood, paralysed in shock. She swallowed, feeling a huge lump within her throat as she stared at the hopelessness around her and breathed in the sickening stench of burnt, charred flesh.
“Mama, Papa…Soraya.” Azmia’s fingers curled into a fist, nails digging deeply into her palm. Yet she could feel no pain, only the acceleration of her heartbeat into harried, deafening thumps that pounded incessantly, and her stomach convulse into tense cramps. Were they alive? Did she lose her family in the hours she was gone?
“MAMA! SORAYA!” All reason left her as she threw away her burden of a backpack and sprinted, as far away from the soldiers and the burnt houses as possible. Nothing else mattered…whether she lived or died…she didn’t know what to believe any more... all she cared was that her family was alive… She turned left….then right…until she reached her home. Azmia flung open the wooden door and burst into the dismal living room.
“MAMA! SORAYA! PAPA!” cried she repeatedly. She clutched her stomach, gasping for breath. Her legs throbbed with pain, but she couldn’t care less. Azmia sank to the concrete floor in a defeated slump, staring blankly at the debris in front of her… Mama’s favourite red slippers, her father’s crumpled socks, Soraya’s copper bracelet. Tears sprang to her eyes.
“Mia!” a familiar high-pitched girlish voice called out. Azmia’s head snapped back up, and turned in the direction the voice was coming from. Peering out from a thick bush nearby was two round eyes that darted from side to side, watchful for the impending arrival of the soldiers. Azmia breathed out a huge sigh of relief and wiped her tears away. She could recognise that voice and those eyes from anywhere…
“Thank Allah!,” she made her way over to the thick bush, where she found, crouched against the thistles, a small girl with a heart shaped face blackened with soot and dirt, with eyes the colour of molten gold and slightly red,  framed by inextricably long lashes that added to her aura of innocence. Her small hands lightly stroked the coarse hair of her tattered rag doll, as if comforting a small child.
 “Soraya, thank heavens you are alright. Where are Mama and Papa?” exclaimed Azmia.
Her question was soon answered as Azmia felt herself being engulfed into a sudden hug. “Azmia! Thank heavens you’re alright! I thought I lost you!” Dazed, Azmia hugged her mother back. Her eyes met with her father’s, who half-heartedly chuckled, jokingly rolling his eyes. Azmia knew better than to believe him. Although desperately trying to hide it, she knew he was worried.
“Thank heavens you are okay, jaan. We need to stay together.” Azmia nodded. She knew what her father was trying to tell her. A sudden boom, followed by piercing yells seemed to waken her from a trance. There was no time left. Feeling the fabric of her school dress dampen, she tactfully released herself from her mother’s grip and wiped away the tears flowing from her eyes. Taking hold of Soraya’s hand, she followed as her father peered outwards in search for a snatch of green or a hint of a rifle…any signs of the soldiers. Pressing a finger to his lips, he tugged on Azmia’s arm and led them behind of what looked to be an abandoned, dilapidated sugar mill. The family stood there, backs pressed against the wall, hearing gunshots, angry yells followed by wails of despair. Azmia’s stomach churned. Everything she ever knew and loved since childhood…all was in ruins.
“Papa, why are the green men doing this? Why do they want to hurt us so badly?” whispered Soraya tremulously, clutching Azmia’s hand tightly.
“Bloody Soviets! They betrayed our country. They betrayed our people, with their bloody socialist agenda!” A thick silvery glob of saliva landed directly near her father’s foot, as he spat bitterly and rubbed the sticky glob vigorously into the gravel with the worn sole of his leather shoe. Azmia glanced at her mother, whose mouth fell slightly open in shock. Azmia’s father with his calm demeanour and respectable manner was the last person Azmia and her mother would expect to swear in front of his wife and children, let alone spit in a public place, given the circumstances of what would happen if the soldiers had seen him.
“Now Abdul. Don’t scare them. Allah will punish them for destroying our country, our faith. Everything will be alright, Soraya. No one will hurt us.” Azmia’s mother spoke in an unconvincingly reassuring tone, failing to meet the inquisitive stare Soraya was giving her.
“Who are you trying to fool, Mama? Soraya? Or yourself?” Azmia snorted derisively. She couldn’t help it. She was sick of the pretence and the attempt at bravado that her parents were trying so desperately to uphold. Her retort was quickly quelled by a furious glare from her mother.
“Soraya is a child. You on the other hand are old enough to understand what is going on. And I will not have you behaving any less different than the respectful daughter I raised you to be. Especially since I need you to understand that… I don’t know if we will be able to get through this together.”
 Azmia choked, unable to find her voice. What did she mean we wouldn’t get through this together?
“Whatever happens to your father and I, I want you to promise me something. Promise me, something, Mia.”
“Anything.” Azmia croaked, struggling to hold back her tears.
“No matter what happens to your father and I, you must take care of yourself and Soraya. Promise me that, jaan, and never let go of that promise.” Her words hung loosely in the air surrounding them, breaking the tangible silence that ensued.
“I promise,” whispered Azmia, eyes downcast. “I love you ma.”
 “This way! Hurry! No time for sentiment!” Azmia was dragged apart from her mother and tugged along. Her legs broke into a mad dash as they collectively sped, away from the sugar mill towards a junction a mile away into another village, away from the soldiers as far as possible. Heart pounding, Azmia kept running. Everything around her seemed to be occurring in slow motion, where the only thing she could focus upon is her mother’s pleading voice echoing in her ears. 
“No matter what happens…take care of yourself and Soraya…no matter what happens…promise me
A deafening crack sounded behind her. Azmia screeched to a sudden halt stumbling over a loose twig. A small scuff of skin against gravel followed by a whimper of pain was heard as she was roughly pulled to her feet. Azmia felt a sudden rush of pain as the mysterious stranger roughly wrenched her hair backwards. Letting out a gasp of pain, Azmia gazed at the stranger’s pale face, wearing a derisive smirk.
“Vat should ve do with theese one?” he hissed. His lips curled into a mocking snarl as he watched Azmia struggle against his grip. Out of the corner of her eye, Azmia caught a glance of Soraya, her fair face turning into a painful shade of blackcurrant as she was pinned in a headlock by another soldier.
“Let…her…go…please. Take me if you want…” she spluttered.
The soldier smirked wickedly and turned to the soldier, yelling in a language that was unrecognisable to Azmia. Her blood ran cold as a resounding bang echoed in her ears. She gazed helplessly as the life faded from her beloved sister’s eyes, as she sank into a crumbling heap onto the dirt, her rag doll falling from her thin arms. It was no use. Soraya was dead.