A Price Paid

Warning: Story depicts imagery of war, death, and some violence. 

"That's right dear", said Hilda, "just like in your story books." 

"Don't lie to me Mama!”, she squealed, giggling. 

"I would never lie to you cupcake, it's all true." She paused, and the warm glow of her face faded. "You see sweetie, where I come from, little girls like you grow up to be angels." 

Sierra curled her lip, thinking. "Then why did you leave Mama? You didn't wanna be angels too?" 

Hilda scanned the room, taking in all the nuances that made it her daughter’s. The vinyl dolls on the shelf, strewn about beads and bits of string on a bright pink desk far too small for any adult, numerous crayon drawings of fantastical things taped to each wall, even the penciled notches along the doorframe where Hilda measured her each year.  

She breathed deeply. "No honey, I didn't want to be an angel." Her eyes came back to fall upon her daughter. She smiled. 

"Being here with you is much better." 

She leaned in and kissed Sierra on her forehead. "Now get some sleep cupcake, you have a big day ahead of you. It’s not every day that you start 3rd grade.” 

Hilda headed back into the hallway, leaving the door cracked behind her just enough so that a sliver of light from the hallway crept into Sierra's room. She walked down the hall in a bit of a daze and, startling herself, bumped into her husband Bert, coming out of his study.  

"Oh! Sorry honey," she exclaimed, taken aback. 

"That’s alright. Are you ok?” he asked. 

"Yea...I'm okay. Just tucked Sierra in."

Bert looked into her eyes. He always knew when something was up.  

"Hildy, honey, you have one of those looks. Like you’re a thousand miles away. Where are you right now?"

She didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. Mentally, she was a thousand miles away. Sierra had wanted a different bedtime story tonight than the ones she usually read to her. She had picked one off the shelf without looking at it, one she didn’t recall purchasing. Bert probably got it for her. She couldn’t quite remember the name either -- something heaven...or...something. It didn’t matter much anyway. 

“Hildy?” 

She snapped back to reality. “Oh, sorry, what were you saying?” 

He sighed warmly, then smiled and hugged her. “Never mind. You coming to bed soon?” 

She nodded. “...sure.” 

Bert gave her one last assured look, and headed into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. 

She sat down at the kitchen table, her eyes fixated on a chip in the paint against the wall. The light hanging above was dim; the bulb hadn’t been replaced in years and was most likely on its last leg. Only the quiet, almost imperceptible tick of the second hand from an analog clock on the wall filled the room. A photograph in a faded frame lay on the table in front of her. She had fished it out from one of the storage boxes in the attic. The picture itself – aged, brown and cracking along the edges. Even in the world today it seemed as if it was from a time before her. The picture was of her as a young girl, no older than Sierra, along with her father and uncle. 

She continued to stare at the wall, her mind not racing, but instead at a standstill. Focused on a memory from years past, her vision was of sand and dust. A country across the ocean. An extremist group of men. A guaranteed verdict. And her mother and sister.  

Her mother had woken her up in the dead of night. 

“Huma, quick. Get up. There’s no time to waste.” she said hurriedly.

Even though she was a child at the time, she knew not to question her mother. The world they lived in then was very different than the one she resided in now. 

She quickly got up, grabbed her clothes and hijab, threw a few small items in a leather bag which she swung over her shoulder, and within minutes was following her older sister, mother, father, and uncle through the winding streets of the city. They could hear gunfire in the distance. Slowly but surely, the city began to come alive with the sounds of cries and automatic weapons. As they ran, she recalled looking up at the full moon, as it sat thousands of miles away – peaceful and serene, silently spectating the horrors below.  

They made their way quickly and quietly through back alleys and cobbled streets. Familiar homes and places soon turned to new and foreign areas. Looking back, she could see fire and smoke rising from the neighborhood she called home. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she began to sob. 

“Quiet Huma, there will be a time and place for that!” her father interjected sternly from a few paces ahead. But she couldn’t help it. She thought of her toys, her room, her friends – all left behind in the chaos and gunfire. She cried louder. 

Without warning, her father was beside her.  

THWACK! 

She stood there, stunned and in shock. A burning, stinging sensation filled the left side of her face. 

Her father had never hit her before. A deeply religious and devout man, he had never condoned violence. More tears welled up in her eyes, but now she let them fall silently.

Her mother rushed over to her, tucking her youngest daughter’s jet-black hair behind one ear, “Huma my love, he didn’t mean it. Understand, we just have to be very quiet.” she pleaded. “There are men looking for us. But I promise, everything is going to be o-”. 

Before she could finish her sentence, a loud shuffle of footsteps and raised male voices erupted from around the next corner. Without hesitation, her mother shoved her into the street stall behind her, sending her reeling over the counter as she knocked aside a basket of grain and a large tray of dates.

She met the ground with the side of her head. A sharp pain, then dizziness. Her eyes grew heavy. As she lay on the ground unable to move, covered in dust and debris, the edges of her vision began to fade. The silhouettes of her family distorted and blurred. And as her consciousness faded, she could just make out the shouts of her father and uncle, the scuffle of a fight, several sharp bursts from an assault rifle, and finally two, haunting female screams. 

It would be the last time she’d ever hear her mother or sister. 

Back in the kitchen, Huma, now Hilda, continued to stare at the wall. Her body still and her breathing shallow, she began to come back into the room. A soft shuffle of cotton on carpet came from the now dark hallway near her.  

“Mama?” Sierra said as she rounded the corner, still rubbing her tired eyes.  

Hilda inhaled and turned to her, now fully present.  

“Yes, cupcake?” She looked at the clock. 1:47am. “Oh my goodness, what are you doing out of bed?” 

“I couldn’t sleep Mama, I had a nightmare.” 

“Oh? What kind of nightmare?” she asked as she hoisted Sierra onto her lap.  

Whimpering a bit, Sierra responded, “There were lots of scary monsters, and they took Ruby away! They were biting her and then she was all ripped and dirty!” 

She started to cry. Ruby was her favorite stuffed animal; a plush burgundy colored rabbit Hilda had given to her as a child.  

“Oh cupcake...I’m sorry.” Using her fingers, she tucked a loose strand of Sierra’s jet-black hair behind her ear. “Let’s go find Ruby, I’m sure she’s in your bed right where you left her. I promise love, everything is going to be okay.” 

Sierra sniffled and shook her head up and down. 

“Mama?” 

“Yes?” 

“Tell me again how come you didn’t want to be angels?” 

Hilda looked at her daughter - her beautiful, innocent, little girl who inherited so many of her Middle Eastern features. 

“Because cupcake, there’s no place I’d rather be than here with you.” 

And together, they walked back to Sierra’s room. 

One day, she’d share with her daughter. But not tonight.

Tonight, they were safe.  

Tonight, they were free.