This is for a project for university. The teacher gave us each a random image to write a short story from. I got a photograph of migrants escaping from Libya by boat to Europe.
Its the first time I've written anything so any critique is immensely appreciated!
Part 1
As usual,I couldn't sleep. I was already used to staying wide awake listening to the screams through my thin bedroom walls. My little hands groped my sheets as I tried to wipe away my tears. The screaming stopped after a loud smack, followed by sounds of weeping and then painful silence. I don't know how, but I managed to fall asleep. At once I was in a better place, outside in the streets holding my moms hand. I looked up at her gleaming face, which for the first time she wasn't hiding. I never understood why she had to hide it; everyone was missing out on her beauty. She bent down and hugged me. She was shaking, crying, embracing me so tightly I couldn't breath. she got up and walked away. As she drifted further away from me I thought that she was leaving me forever. I tried to follow her but with every step I took she appeared farther away. I wanted to scream out but no sound left my mouth. She started to fade away, I was all alone.
Something woke me up. When I lifted my head I saw a figure in the darkness.
"Mom?" I muttered.
She looked down at me. I had never seen her so anxious before. As my drowsiness drifted away I realized that she was packing the few clothes I owned into my little pink backpack. A while later we prowled in the dark towards the front door. I got confused, where were we going? We had never gone out without my step dad. As we stepped outside the front door I saw a big van that was apparently waiting for us. As we got in the back I saw that there were a few other people inside as well. Mostly women and children and a few men. As we sat down I looked up at my mom, her face was completely shrouded in a black cloth, except for her eyes.
"Where are we going?" I managed to whisper.
Her eyes beamed as she said, "To a better place."
As the van starting moving I looked out of the window and managed to catch my last glimpse of my house, I noticed that the lights had turned on. We traveled for around an hour, the sun was creeping above the horizon. The van stopped and everyone started getting out. When we got out I realized we were at the coast. Further down there was a multitude of people, a mixture of men, women, a few children and the occasional crying baby. At the shore there were a few small boats.
As we walked closer to the shore I realized that the boats didn't exactly look well kept, and they were tiny. I wondered how we were all going to fit in there. My mom looked cautious, her eyes were darting at every direction, as if she was trying to look for someone. She held her head low and kept me close to her.
As I looked back I saw a familiar looking car that had started to park not so far away from the van, fear struck my moms eyes. She started walking faster and took us into the crowd of people trying to blend in. From the corner of my eye I saw as the car door opened and a familiar face stepped out. It was my step dad. We locked eyes.
I don't remember what happened after that, it was a blur. We never left.
Part 2
My whole body hurt as I woke up, nothing new. I stumbled out of bed and headed towards the my bedroom door whilst trying to untangle my long hair. The door was locked. I sighed. I realized that I kicked something on the floor under my door, my breakfast. Some stale bread and a cup of milk I managed to spill, on an old plastic tray. My step dad brings me breakfast through a slot in my door, which I don't mind because I would rather be alone then be with him.
I looked in the mirror that hung on my door, the sight of my reflection almost brought tears to my eyes but I promised myself that wouldn't cry every again. I grabbed some bread and sat on my bed to eat.
My room was tiny, in the corner under my study table was my old pink backpack from when I was 8. I still kept it because it was a gift from my mom. As I sat there contemplating my old gift as I heard a knock from my window. I gleamed, I ran over and opened it. It was a boy dressed in old over-sized clothes.
"Eisha, I'm sorry I couldn't come earlier, I had some err business to deal with" he said with a frown.
"Don't worry, I knew you would come" I said.
Angelo was my only friend. He was around my age, 17 or 18. I'm estimating because he never found out his birth-date. The orphanage found him roaming around homeless on the streets. They only managed to find out his first name. He had messy blonde hair and sly smirk.
He would come everyday to talk to me about the outside and his adventures. If it weren't for Angelo I would've ran away long ago. I wasn't allowed to go out other then to school and back. I was stuck inside my tiny room all day, and the door was usually locked.
We both always had these conversations of fleeing from this country and living in Europe, we suffered immensely here. He got separated from his family when he was very small and somehow ended up here In Libya. He somehow knew a bit of Italian and had vague memories of Italy. His dream is to find his family.
"So what's this business thing you where talking about?" I asked.
"I was just about to tell y-" His face darkened. "Your face! Are you okay?" he roared.
"I'm fine." I muttered.
"Aisha please, this is worse then last time, this cant keep happening."
I couldn't help it, tears streamed down my face. "There is nothing I can do!" I quivered.
"Aisha, you're going to end up like your mom if you..."
"I hate you!" I roared.
I slammed the window in his face and went back to bed.