Layla’s Raft
Layla sat on a wet, old, orange raft that rose and fell, rose and fell across an endless sea.
Her thoughts surged over her like the water washing up on the damp ramp. Scents, tastes and sounds of home filled up Layla’s mind. They had once bought laughter to her lips, but now they made her frown and tore her insides.
She longed to be amongst them once again.
They now only seemed like far-fetched dreams.
When the cold, bitter wind slapped her face, Layla remembered the long summer days she had spent with her cousins.
The scorching afternoons and cool evenings where Layla and her cousins would chase around the tulip fields until the sun would set, and the sky turned a fiery pink and furious amber.
At night, when she huddled against her mother in the midst of the eerie, black sea with no sounds to accompany her apart from the grumbling of the waves, her father’s voice filled her ears.
His warm, deep voice echoed against their mud hut as he told tales of fairies and elves, his joyful face glowing in the glaze of the flickering fire.
The thoughts that haunt her the most is when the monster came.
It started with her being forbidden to go to school. Layla was then not allowed to see her cousins.
She was confined to the sanctuary of her home and its four walls.
The day then arrived when the bullets finally attacked.
They penetrated the streets right and light without any pity, or mercy. Ear-splitting cries of agony and fear pierced the black night as blood splattered across the ground.
Her father ran out to help… only to be never seen by Layla again.
Layla’s mother clutched her hand in her own and they fled. Fled from home.
Since then, Layla has only known this wet, old, orange raft.
Whilst asleep, her dreams are filled with the dreadful memories of her past. Her happy ones overcome by the darkness deep inside of her.
She sometimes feels herself gasping awake to the still, pitch black, starry sky, only to find her mother’s sorrow-filled, almond eyes with tears brimming, already staring into hers.
‘Alsabr.’ She would whisper while stroking Layla’s matted hair.
Layla wished for days when she could be filled with laughter and mellow days. Of going to school without the pounding agony of fear in her heart that she may be killed today.
Far from the dreadful tanks that roared down the streets and the tear-filled screams of people being torn.
Thoughts of her past clung to Layla like glue. Her mind pondered over them day and night.
Layla sat in a wet, old, orange raft that rose and fell, rose and fell across an endless sea.
Rose and fell, rose and fell across an endless sea
8B