By Fadhil Al-Azzawi
Translated By Zeina Issa
Incomprehensible screams were passing through the door’s key hole. There were shadows of soldiers with rifles on an olive coloured wall. At midnight the guard came, he called out a few names. They were shivering out of fear. He said “Come”.
The young man was thinking about his mother “Where is my shoe?”
The policeman said “No shoes, hurry up”. They left. The voices of the night finally fizzled. Then we heard ten bullets in the darkness. That’s when I silently got up and wore his shoes, for memory’s sake.