Hiii
Could someone please read over my english essay for context?
Prompt: Conflict shapes the way we see ourselves and the world
Creative
I sat in the corner of the dank and cavernous room staring at the hungry dog outside the window as who was sniffing his way through the dirt trying to find something edible. His eyes looked desperate and miserable just like a small child who was trying to find his lost mother in the bazaar. I walked towards the door holding the piece of bread in my hand hiding from the Taliban men sitting on the pavement. I watched the other kidnapped children throw rocks across the road at every car that went past and laugh hysterically at each complaining driver. “These kids have no idea,” I thought. “They don’t know any better.” They were born and bred just to think of this as an amusement park where someone would press the button and the journey would come to an end.” I silently walked through the door and the dog immediately looked up sensing danger. Out of nowhere, Raheem, the son of a Taliban member grabbed my hand as I went to throw the piece of bread towards the dog. “Ahmed, Allah will not forgive you for wasting food,” he yelled. I stared at him for a while. Waste? Was it called wasting food if I was giving it to a poor and hungry soul? “Raheem, this is not right. We should learn to love animals. They have feelings as well. Living in this country, we should help each other and all living things.” I exclaimed reciting the words from the Quran. “Ahmed, how dare you teach me how to behave? You have been here for only 3 months and you are behaving like a king. You are a coward.” As soon as the words escaped his mouth, I felt his hand violently slap me across the face and I fell to the ground whimpering. The word coward has become imprinted on me. I was never able to escape it, and even in this unknown and deadly place, it had followed me. I was being punished for speaking up against the Taliban. I really missed Mamma. I clung to the thoughts of the memorable memories of my mother stroking my hair and singing me lullabies at night. But I was unable to fulfil my duties as a son. I wasn’t there when she needed me most. She was raped and beaten by the Taliban soldiers and I wasn’t even there to save her. This experience has changed her. She is no longer the same woman who was always there to give me assurance when I needed it most. She has lost all her hope for change in this country. It was impossible to put compassion where it wasn’t before.
One morning, Raheem yelled my name and told me I was called to the Taliban meeting. Why was I called? Had they seen me give a glass of water to the captured American last night? I shuffled to the door and knocked softly as I entered the dark and grimy room where the sofas were stained and the curtains looked like they had been eaten by a savage animal. I bowed down in front of the men as they laughed at me. They talked to each other about the day when I had tried to stop them raping my mother. “This weak little boy was trying to stop us,” one of the members cried in complete hysterics. My face boiled up in anger. I clenched my fists tightly, stopping myself from lashing out at them. My heart pounded vigorously but I couldn’t say a word. Finally, Abdul spoke up and everyone fell silent. “Ahmed, we have a very important job for you. Allah has mentioned your name for this job. We want you to go to the town of Lashkar Gah wearing this very nice vest”. Abdul pointed to the camouflaged vest where the wires were protruding from under the sleeves and collars, but from a distance, they looked like typical Muslim embroidery. It took me a while to realise what I had to do and thought about it for a couple of minutes. Save strangers or my family? I juggled these two choices in my head and decided, that to me, Abba and Mamma were most important. “Yes. I will do it. But can Raheem come with me?” The men stared at me for a second and immediately burst into a wave of laughter. “Raheem? Come with you? No, no Ahmed. You are the chosen one. You must fulfil Allah’s wish.” I understood. Being the son of a Taliban member always proved beneficial.
The day came. I felt sick. My stomach churned like a violent tornado ripping through my body. I felt the bile rise up in my throat but continuously fought the urge to throw up. They were hidden, but were watching me like a hawk. Every step I took was being monitored and I couldn’t afford to run away now. I forced myself to walk forward for the sake of my family, towards the town of Lashkar Gah holding the trigger in my sweaty but steady palms. Kids shrieking and tumbling in the dust rolling their best clothes in the dirt, to their mother’s horror. But the babble of voices and aromatic smells from the kitchen would draw the mothers back inside and immediately; their anger would change into excitement. Everyone would be enjoying the only day of the year where status and responsibilities were forgotten and only family mattered. All these people would be swallowed up in the preparations for Eid and they would be unaware that their death was only a few minutes away. What was I doing? Mamma had always taught me to care for others and never be selfish. But I could never be as nice as her. Throughout my life, I have only received hate and anger from others and now it was my time for revenge.
I continued to walk through the town. The kids ran around me in all directions yelling and screaming as they spot the wires under my collars. “Bomb. Bomb,” they yelled. They ran off to tell their mothers but it was too late. Allah forgive me. My index finger trembled as I slowly pulled the trigger.
I know it's long but if you have time, please read it. My context sac in on friday and I am desperate for some comments/feedback
THANKS!!!
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