Faded colours

“We have to go, Fatima. After what happened, we both know we can’t stay here! It isn’t safe anymore.” He whispered, barely breathing.

“No, we can’t go. We built our lives here. Kenan, Bosna je naš dom. We can’t leave our families behind. We can’t leave our home behind. We can’t leave our country in a state like this!” She whisper-shouted in the dark kitchen.

For once, I didn’t wake up to the bombing, the cries of nightmares. It was majka’s and babo’s arguing in the kitchen next to my room that woke me up in the middle of the night.

“It’s not our country anymore. Don’t you see it’s completely ravaged?” He breathed in, then out, and calmly whispered. “Fatima, I understand, but it’s not what it used to be. Sarajevo isn’t what it was a year ago.” He sighs and even now I imagine him running his hand through his hair, as he always does when he’s in a dilemma. “I know you don’t want to leave him alone. We can’t sacrifice Alma just because you can’t leave Amar behind.”

“It’s not that,” majka’s voice broke. “It’s not that.” I heard her whimper, but not the silent kind I got used to. It’s the one that makes you realise that some things can break even the unbreakable. I felt babo hugging her and letting her pour down her sorrow.

Every night since then, I’m glad for the explosions and the noise because when everything goes silent, I realise that the laughter has disappeared, and that silence is deafening. Silence has become more unbearable than shootings and explosions.

I walked silently back to our room. My room now, I guess. The colourful paint prints of our hands on the door have been fading away. He has been fading away, our happiness as well. We haven’t touched his bed, his clothes, his little corner near the door. We couldn’t bring ourselves to discard him as soon as he’s gone.

I curled under the blankets, and let silent tears roll down my cheeks, like they used to when I was younger. For once, I was glad that the noise of war covered the horrid sound of my heart breaking.

Majka’s favourite singer Dino Merlin is playing on the radio, and she and babo are dancing together. Majka’s head is resting on babo’s chest, facing the right side, her eyes closed and arms behind his neck. Babo has his hands on her hips, his head on the crook of her neck. He is whispering while smiling sweetly and majka is chuckling, and it is like they are back to their teenage years. And I realise I’m swinging back and forth not to the music but to the melody of their laughter.

This scene fades away and – as I try to search for it around me – I hear giggling behind me. Amar is laying on the fluffy blue carpet of our room, drawings and paint everywhere from when we started the door project as we called it. Rays of sunshine pass through our small window and I’m tickling him until tears pour out of his eyes. He is begging me to stop, with his five-year-old voice, and the ten-year-old me is giggling as well. That’s when I realise that I’m out of place. I have bags under my eyes, my cheeks are sharp from hunger and my smile has vanished. Suddenly, it hits me. This is a year before all the current madness.

It’s one of those nightmares I yearn for. The ones that hurt me because - I realise - they’re gone and that he will never come back, yet I still treasure them because, this way, I don’t forget. If I forget this, I am sure to forget my sadness and anger - and him.

The giggling abruptly stops, and is replaced with bombings. I see smoke, dust and fire. Realisation dawns on me. This is the day. I try to wake up but nothing works. Then, I see him. Sitting on the kerb of the pavement, he’s holding an injured cat in his hands, his sweet and innocent mind not recognising the fact that he is in danger. In between the noise, I hear a whooshing.

Then he falls.

Everything suddenly becomes red. Sarajevo is red, the ground is red and my hands are red. I walk closer to my younger self, and slower with each step, dreading what I might see. I stop maybe three feet away from him. From here, I can see a small dark red hole on his body, deep like a well, where his heart is. I look on the concrete of the street and see that the red lake has come to my feet. I don’t understand how such a small body can have this much redness in him.

I stay immobilised until I hear a shriek that makes my blood run cold. It is so heart-breaking and desperate that I ache just by hearing it. I know who it is. Majka is running here, slumping on the burning floor. She’s taken my brother’s body in her arms, stroking his hair and repeatedly pleading. I guess that the one who killed him wanted her to suffer from his absence her whole life. And for me, that is the worst torture someone has to experience.

I feel so small and frail.

Suddenly, she turns to me, her eyes searching for an answer. She keeps mouthing something to me. Until I hear: “Šta se desilo? Zašto on?” I don’t know what happened, I don’t know why him. I’m sorry, I don’t know. On the reflection of the pool that is soiling the city I used to cherish, I understand that I’m the little girl I was that day.

“Alma, dušo, wake up,” someone is nudging me gently, “we have to go.”

I stand up and see one lonely red worn out suitcase standing in the corner of the hallway. I look at Majka, busying herself rearranging some furniture in the living room, then at my dad’s gentle and tired face handing me a pair of old grey jeans and an oversized shirt.

“Alma, we have to go, really quickly before morning.” Instinctively, I look up at the room’s window, which is covered in rags and other things to cover them from seeing and shooting us. “We’ll explain everything in detail in the car, ne brini. Now, go and put the clothes on, molim te.”

I quickly get out of bed, take the clothes and hurry to the bathroom. Everything is as it was, except for the toothbrush and shampoo missing. But everything looks normal. Everything looks so out of the ordinary.

I walk out of the bathroom and immediately, majka’s coming towards me and handing me my coat. Without saying another word, she opens the front door and gets out. Then, babo is nudging me outside and he follows me. Majka closes the front door gently, locking it two times just in case, as if we’re going to return. I hope we never return.

Outside, the smiling moon in the dark, starless night, seems to be promising us the illusion of a better future. We jump in the car. Babo’s in the driver’s seat, majka the passenger and me behind. The engine is coming to life, and we start driving. Without turning back to face me, Majka starts talking.

“We’re going u Njemačku,” she says in barely a whisper, “it’s safer, and we have friends in Munich who live there and can give us somewhere to sleep for a few weeks.” I don’t know what happened but I stopped listening. She couldn’t bear to look at me; Amar and I looked too much alike. That pained her, and so it did me.

Majka always told us that everything that happened was Allah’s doing. And I wondered and wonder, why did he take him. Why did he start this misery. What have we done. What have I done. I wondered if he did exist. If he wasn’t just an illusion, a hope created to help us face reality.

The car suddenly seemed to slow down. Sarajevo is passing by so slowly. Every street is a memory. As the car almost stopped, I saw a small shadow coming closer and closer. It waved at me, and I knew it was Amar. I waved back, grinning, and I swear I could have heard him giggling and calling my name. I giggle back, like I used to, and as the end comes closer, he does too. He puts his hand on the car window, and says, brightly, “hajde, let's go home!”

And then I hear babo shouting.

Majka turns back to look at me, tears and horror in her eyes and takes my hands, praying.

Boom.

Silence.