Photo Courtesy: New York Times

Photo Courtesy: New York Times

She heard a voice calling from far away. It kept coming nearer. Her body kept shaking. She felt the ice cold floor underneath her and the wet wool blankets that wrapped around her. She knew it was a miracle. She hoped it was a miracle. She hoped her deadly journey had finally come to an end.

The darkness has surrounded her for a couple of days now, along with the crashing waves, the constant cries of little children, the illnesses, the throwing of dead bodies into the sea to keep room for the ones alive, the striking hunger, the crushing sound of thunder, and the sound of bombing she still hears wherever she goes. She knew she would be risking her life, but she couldn’t care less. She had nothing to lose anyways because she had already lost it all: her home was bombed, her newborn child was slaughter in front of her eyes and her husband was taken hostage and was never seen again.

She heard heavy steps approaching. Then someone was standing beside her. She could make out two tall silhouettes and a neon light in the background that was directed on a waving flag with three vertical stripes: red, white and green. A man’s voice shouted but she couldn’t understand. It was a language foreign to her and she was immediately sure that it was the miracle she had hoped would happen. She was in a safe land.


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