One Way Out

(trigger warning: violence)

 Mo wasn’t sleeping when they came.

 These days sleep did not come to him as easily, and it wasn’t only because his wife had to use the restroom every two hours , being so close to the due date.

 Problems just seemed to pile up, worries gnawed at him day and night, and his own thoughts appalled him. He had always been the strong one…

 His father had told him, long ago: “Some men are born to be boys all their lives, live in the moment, never ponder on the consequences of their actions, thinking their mothers will forever be around to defend them and excuse their behaviors. But some men are born to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders, and never have a second’s respite, in the hopes that the world will carry on through their efforts, “ 

 He couldn’t even whine about being one of the ‘responsible’ ones. This had always been his life, since he had opened his eyes.

 This broken world had thrown the worst it could at him, and he had thought that if he held on, he would make it through, he would find his way out.

 The prison was large, it was huge, but he could feel the walls pressing on him a little harder every day.

 He was looking at his wife when they came, admiring her beauty, the purity of her skin, the innocence of her sleep, trusting him to keep her and their unborn girl safe. He had never wanted to fall in love. He had decided early on he would never marry,  to never suffer the same pain as when his brother had been killed, shot dead by a lost bullet. Or his mother, suffocating under rubble caused by a ‘misguided’ rocket.

  How many of his friends had he buried, carried off by rage, by fear, by hatred, seeking a way out that was not open to them?

How many tears had he shed, how many were still awaiting him?

 He had never wanted love, so life’s irony had been to make him fall for the most extraordinary woman who had ever existed - life had put her in his path, a diamond he did not deserve.

 He wanted to see her happy,and that was another cause of worry. What could he give her, but more woe, and fears, in the end, only tears? 

 The nights didn’t bring answers, the days were debilitating with work under the unforgiving sun. The olives looked good this year but it would not be a bumper crop. The world was on fire with climate change and they were not spared from any of  the consequences of this. It didn’t matter how poor or desperate they were.

 Everyone dreamed, through social media, of sports cars , hot babes , Prada , Chanel and Gucci, of ozone therapy and living forever, this easy life  was a lure,  fake, not even a dream, just an illusion. They would die for the dream and lose any desire for hard, honest work - what was the point, when it could be ripped away from you at a whim?

 How to ensure a future, a worthy one, when the world  no longer made any sense whatsoever…

 But has it ever made sense?

 He groaned as he got out of bed.  His wife was asleep. She was more resilient than he could ever be.

 She had seen the same death as he had, her parents,her cousins, so many friends, and still she found the strength to smile, and even more so, to hope. 

 He wasn’t sure where she drew her inhuman powers, how she could be so wonderful.

  He smiled as she sighed - all the hardships and sacrifices, the work that left him feeling like an invalid every night - she made it worth it.

 So he would keep getting up every morning and try his best, because that is what she deserved.

 That was the moment they arrived.

 The knocks on the door were imperative, commanding, and he felt a wave of fear coursing through him immediately. He expected the police, something bad, but nothing as heart-sinking as the people who were standing at his door.

 Recently there had been a lot of talk about the settlers moving further in, the police forces  had reinforcements brought in, they knew it was coming, something big, more clashes that they could only lose, a tightening of the chokehold that kept them enslaved and on their knees… 

 They were nine or ten, looking grim, but still bantering between each other. They had come for his farm only.

 For a moment, all he wished was to unsee this. Go back in time, stay in bed, and that vision of horror never comes to be. If he wished it hard enough, prayed hard enough, couldn’t it happen?

 But it seemed everyone had forgotten they existed, even his God.

 While the whole world sat looking at their phones in awe of binge eaters on Tiktok, and wondering what they should call themselves, he, she, it, or they, finding new pronouns every day, while some spent millions on surgeries to look young, to lose fat,  to acquire rare stones,their hardships were overlooked and dismissed.

 Human rights activists insisted abortions should not be allowed, that fetuses barely conceived were sentient beings, but  living, breathing, impossibly laughing children were massacred here and no one blinked.

 They were less than human, they were cannon-fodder stuffed in a tiny prison and left to rot there. But even that prison was not theirs, even their meager possessions could be coveted, and wanted, and taken.

 His heart was ice as he opened the door. He wasn’t sure what to expect, how to react. He was alone with his wife, what could he do?

 No one could do anything.

 The ‘leader’ nodded at him while thrusting a letter in his face. “Hello, this is an eviction notice, you have until sundown to take your things and leave, “ he said, allowing him just a few seconds to read before snatching it back, expecting it to be enough. 

 How could you protest when the authorities made the best and most senseful decisions?

 “You can’t take my home, “ he protested, wanting to read the paper again.

 He knew what was on it, he knew there was no escape, the deed was done, his number had come, he had worked and worked to make his farm as productive as he could, and now someone else would reap the benefits.

 That was the way of the world he lived in, and he was trembling to think what would come next. If they could just go away, disappear from sight. He almost swayed on his feet, what could he do to save generations of effort, this home had seen his great-grandfather born, it was his core, his heritage, his legacy for his child. 

 “Take your things out by sundown, and be gone, or there will be consequences for you.“

 He gave the paper back, letting him read it in full. No escape, no reprieve. It wasn’t moral, it wasn’t right - but it was legal.

 They were waiting. Looking at him with near amusement - and some tension. Waiting - wanting! - him to explode, lose his cool, throw away his common sense and give them a justification to strike back.

 They were the conquerors, the world was at their feet, they could do no wrong, or if they did, they were immediately forgiven and excused.

 Perhaps one day, History would look back on this and call it a dark time of human inequity, and schools would teach children that all men are equal - and this evidence would actually be enforced and respected, not just spouted out and forgotten immediately.

 But not this day.

 “You can’t take my home, my wife is about to have a child, “he argued.

 “Sorry about that, I suggest you find a good home for her, you surely have relatives. You guys always have soooo many relatives, “ the leader said, unconcerned.

 Holding the paper, he realized his hands were trembling; everything was crumbling around him. If he had thought his sanity was being chipped away before, he would have given anything to be back in that blissful state of  not knowing.

 His mind was going over the lack of options in endless loops, incapable of escaping the obvious.

 They were doomed. He didn’t even know where to go, who to turn to. Who would take them in, how would he provide for his family, what would he do?

 “We don’t have all day, “ the leader of the settlers said in annoyance.

 “Who’s there? “ his wife asked, prompting him to close the door.

 But the settlers were intrigued and the leader came in the way, walking through the doorsill as though he already owned the place. Legally, he did, of course - but this was just adding injury to insult.

 “Hello, there, can you please tell your husband he has to pack up? This house is now mine,  you have to be out by sundown, or there will be unfortunate consequences, “ 

 The fear that spread across her eyes was painful to see.

 “Please get out, “he said, not sure how he kept his voice even. “We have until sundown, so give us until sundown,  “ 

 He was taking risks, he knew, but some things were beyond him. He wasn’t going to have them prowl near his vulnerable wife

 The leader looked about to snarl at him and remind him who was in charge, but he decided to be generous. “Sundown, “ he warned.

  Mo went back to the bedroom. All their work and future, gone, but he could not upset his wife more than she already was. 

 She was on the bed, fully dressed, crying unabashedly while she held her bulging belly. 

 “We will be alright, “ he said, astonished his voice sounded even. 

 “Where will we go? “ she replied.

 “My uncle, maybe, I will call him, just… gather your things. I will call my cousin and we will get everything out, “ he said.

 She shook her head in panic. “Everything is ready, here, we can’t leave, our home, our home, Mo, “ she pleaded.

 “You are my home, “he soothed.

  Once again she proved her strength. After crying against his shoulder for a few minutes, she got up and started packing their clothes and everything they had prepared for the baby’s room.

 Mo called his cousin and explained the situation - the way the other became silent at the news, just for a few seconds, then pledged his immediate help made him feel a tiny bit better. 

 The tiny light brought by the solidarity vanished when he went outside and saw the settlers had regrouped a few meters away, smoking as they waited for them to be gone.

 What he would have given to throw them out, tell them to leave and never come back, but his mouth stayed shut, so tightly his jaw started to hurt. 

 All day they loaded his cousin’s car for the voyage to his place, packing their meager possessions, stripping away everything that had made their home cozy.

Nothing was really theirs, everything could be taken away, and the men were watching in satisfaction.

 Mo felt like vomiting, but he could not afford to waste his time and what little energy he had this way.

 Finally, it was time to leave, the house that had seen him born and grow, the home he had rebuilt himself, his father and mother’s ashes were spread in the garden, as per their wishes, to bless the land that had brought them happiness…

 All this gone, over one decision and one piece of paper.

 His world was a prison, you couldn’t see the walls, but you could certainly feel them.

His cousin welcomed them with open arms and let them set up a small nursery in a corner of the guest bedroom, nothing  like they could have given their baby before, but the best they could hope for now.

 He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to sleep a wink, but he surprised himself, since his wife’s tears woke him from the restless slumber he had fallen into.

 “What’s wrong? “ he worried.

 “Nothing! “she gasped, startled.

 Of course, what was right? It was a stupid question to ask.

 “We will be alright, “ he said softly, hugging her gently. If he said it enough times, it would happen. Wouldn’t it?

 “I know, “ she said, crying harder in his embrace.

 “We will be alright, we are home when we are together, “he said in a whisper.

 “I know, I know, I just- I just lost my mother’s doll, “ she sobbed.

 He blinked, remembering the family heirloom she had always valued above anything else, a doll that had been passed on for generations. She had the firm intention of giving it to their girl.

 “It must be in your bags, “he said reasonably.

 “I looked everywhere, and I was so… I think I forgot it, oh god, I forgot it, “ she cried harder, as though the doll was what really mattered to her. But he understood what was wrong.

 She had weathered everything with courage but she could not take anything else, losing her heirloom, her reminder of her mother, was breaking her heart.

 “I will find it, “he promised her.

 It ate him up inside. He wanted her to have that one bit of happiness, but to get back to the house was akin to suicide. Unless he was very careful about it.

About a week after the eviction, he left his wife to sleep, and traveled stealthily in the night, to return to his home.

 He knew the chances were the new family had thrown it out in the trash, but with a little luck, he could find it near the curb, or on the devastated lawn, somewhere… if there was a God, he would find it, it would be his sign that he could survive this prison, he could find the strength to go on. One day at a time.

 His house had no secrets for him, and the new family hadn’t found all the entry points that weren’t as obvious as the front door.

 He was inside before he realized the folly of his actions. He wasn’t sure how he had gotten there, where he had lost his common sense. Why he had made such poor decisions?

 But standing in his old kitchen, now decorated to another’s taste, his feverish mind cleared.

 He had to go, he had to return to his wife and forget this madness. He would bear anything, survive everything, and if one day, God smiled upon them once more, he would be ready.

 But it was not this day.

 Just as he was about to sneak his way out, the man came into the kitchen, attracted by the noise, or maybe just a drink of water.

 His eyes bulged out at the sight of the intruder and he opened his mouth to scream. But Mo didn’t give him the time, jostling him to the floor.

 But now they were struggling on the floor, each man trying to gain the upper hand over the other, probably waking up the whole house -  This was his house, the spirit of his ancestors lived here, he couldn’t tuck tail and run, he had to fight!

 They knocked a knife rack over the counter and the cutlery fell to the floor, within grabbing distance.

 The settler was punching him .He grabbed a knife and swung at his opponent, making him cry out. The blade had nicked the man’s cheek, and in panic, he jumped backwards and knocked his head on the low cupboards, half-knocking himself out.

 Mo took the opportunity and pounced on him, using his weight to pin him down and moving to stab him through the chest , the heat of the moment overcoming his better judgment in the matter.

 A gasp of fear brought him back to reality.

 A child of maybe 6 years old had wandered into the kitchen in her nightgown, and looked at them in horror.

 She cradled his wife’s doll in her arms.

 Mo nearly sobbed; the man was knocked out, bleeding, and his own hands were trembling. He threw away the knife and raised a trembling hand at the girl, hoping to appease her before she screamed. 

 She was motionless, her eyes wide in terror as he gently pulled on the doll to get it free - and leave just as quickly as he could.

 If he could escape this bad decision, this insanity of his, he swore in his mind to never again do anything so stupid, putting his wife and child’s future in jeopardy out of misplaced pride. His jail had no way out, but that didn’t mean he had the right to give up. It seemed pointless,  completely unfair, to be forced to live this hell - yet this was all he had, and he did not want to give it up.

 The pain was sudden and crippling; he could not breathe anymore. He had been beaten before, to his knees, to unconsciousness, but this was new.

 He fell to his knees, gurgling as he tried to draw a breath that wouldn’t come. Warmth fell across his shirt, sprinkling the terrified girl with red.

 He wished he had the voice to calm her, he didn’t want to see her scared like this, but he could no longer speak.

 Darkness fell across his eyes and he finally understood what was wrong with him. The settler had recovered his wits and grabbed the knife, stabbing him in front of his daughter.

Mo had one thought for his wife and child to be, how he had failed them, how he was leaving them in this hopeless prison, defenseless and alone.

 He wished he could have had the time to tell them that there was a way out after all.

 Just one, though.

 One way out. And he was crossing the threshold now.