(An assignment for the writers' group. The topic was "Sowing Seeds.")
From where she sat on the porch swing, Maria could easily see the birds’ nest in the old oak tree, growing mere feet away from the house. She closed her eyes, and listened to the baby birds crying to their mama to be fed. Smiling, Maria thought back to a day almost seventy years before.
“That’s it, Maria. Now cover it up with soil. Be sure to cover it well, now.”
“But Poppy, you said we were going to plant seeds today This is nothing but a rotten old acorn. And it’s even broken, too.”
“The acorn isn’t broken,” Poppy said with a smile. “Its shell is cracked, but inside that shell, there’s a seed. See that white thing coming out of the bottom? That’s the root. It’s already starting to sprout.”
Maria hadn’t been quite sure she believed what her grandfather was telling her, but had pushed her doubts aside, and taken him at his word. And sure enough, Poppy had been right, for the small acorn they planted that day, had grown into a tall, beautiful, majestic oak.
Maria thought back to her wedding day, remembering how the photographer had asked the newlyweds to pose at the foot of Maria’s Tree. A few years later, she remembered watching her husband hanging an old tire by a rope from its largest branch. She smiled at the memory of their children playing on that swing, and shuddered at the thought of her youngest, breaking his arm when he fell from the tree, after climbing far too high on a dare from his sister.
Year after year, Maria’s tree had brought such pleasure. In spring, it was home for nesting birds; in summer, respite from the afternoon heat; and in the fall, a playground for chipmunks and squirrels. The tree had become a part of her family.
Her granddaughter’s squeals of delight brought Maria back to the present. “Nonna! NONNA! Look what I found!” and the young girl opened her hand to reveal a treasure. On the child’s palm lay a cracked acorn, a root already protruding from its base.
Smiling, Maria pulled herself up from the porch swing. “I was about your age,” she began, “when your great, great grandfather and I planted an acorn just like the one you have there. And do you know what grew from that seed?”
The little girl thought for a moment before answering. “An acorn tree?” she asked.
“No darling, acorns grow into oak trees. That oak tree right there,” and she pointed to the tree growing next to the house, “is the tree that grew from the acorn your great, great grandfather and I planted.” Maria smiled, “I have an idea,” and she took the child by the hand. “Why don’t you and I plant that acorn you found. It’ll grow and grow, until it’s big and strong, just like my tree, and then you’ll have an oak tree of your very own.”
Showing posts with label writing group. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing group. Show all posts
Monday, 23 April 2018
Monday, 16 October 2017
Running Away.
(Another assignment for the writers' group, with the topic being, Running Away. Please excuse the language but there are times when a swear or two are necessary.)
“You’re hurting me."
His grip on her arm tightened.
“Let me go.”
Her skin turned white where his fingertips dug into the flesh.
“Please? Just let me go.”
He pushed the sixteen-year-old girl away from him, and she fell backwards onto the floor. With anger, he spat the words, “Don’t you EVER disrespect your father again, you little slut.”
********************
“You’re hurting me.”
The edges of his mouth turned upward, forming a frightening, leering sneer.
“Let me go.”
“I want what I paid for.”
“Please? Just let me go.”
Pushing the seventeen-year-old girl up against the brick wall, the middle-aged john looked up and down the dark alley, making sure no one was watching. “I SAID, I want what I paid for, you little BITCH.”
**********************
“You’re hurting me.”
“Do you have anything sharp in your pockets?”
“Let me go.”
“Have you taken anything? Are you on any drugs?”
“Please? Just let me go.”
Placing his hand on top of the eighteen-year-old girl’s head, the officer pushed her into the back seat of his patrol car. “Miss? You’re under arrest.”
“You’re hurting me."
His grip on her arm tightened.
“Let me go.”
Her skin turned white where his fingertips dug into the flesh.
“Please? Just let me go.”
He pushed the sixteen-year-old girl away from him, and she fell backwards onto the floor. With anger, he spat the words, “Don’t you EVER disrespect your father again, you little slut.”
********************
“You’re hurting me.”
The edges of his mouth turned upward, forming a frightening, leering sneer.
“Let me go.”
“I want what I paid for.”
“Please? Just let me go.”
Pushing the seventeen-year-old girl up against the brick wall, the middle-aged john looked up and down the dark alley, making sure no one was watching. “I SAID, I want what I paid for, you little BITCH.”
**********************
“You’re hurting me.”
“Do you have anything sharp in your pockets?”
“Let me go.”
“Have you taken anything? Are you on any drugs?”
“Please? Just let me go.”
Placing his hand on top of the eighteen-year-old girl’s head, the officer pushed her into the back seat of his patrol car. “Miss? You’re under arrest.”
Monday, 30 November 2015
Reindeer Pellets
(The following was an assignment from our writers' group. The topic was Santa Claus.)
“One last stop and I’m done,” Chris muttered as he pulled into the mall parking lot. “This holiday traffic is ridiculous. Thank goodness it’s not like this on Christmas Eve. I’d never get anything delivered.”
The parking lot was full and Chris found himself forced to drive around and around, looking for an empty spot. Eventually finding one by a side entrance, he pulled to a stop and climbed out. “This isn’t such a bad spot,” he murmured. “I believe the dry cleaners is at this end of the mall anyway. I should be able to get in and out in the wink of an eye.” He looked down at his watch. “And I’ll need to be quick. The Missus said the dry cleaners closes early each night.”
As Chris reached for the mall entrance door, he noticed an ‘Employees Only’ sign. “REINDEER PELLETS! If I have to walk around to the front of the mall, I won’t make it to the cleaners in time.” He thought for a moment before grabbing hold of the door handle. “But I really can’t see my using this entrance will do any harm.”
“Thank goodness you’re here!” a young woman exclaimed as she hurried down the mall corridor. “There are kids lined up halfway down the mall, all waiting to tell you what they want for Christmas.”
“Ho, ho, ho,” chuckled Chris. “You have me mistaken for someone else, Miss. I’m just here to pick up my…”
“Never mind that,” she scolded. “We need to get you over to the Santa’s Workshop display, pronto. She tugged on Chris’ jacket sleeve, pulling him along.
“Nice costume, by the way,” she commented. “That’s not mall issue, is it? Feels like a better quality… ah… ah… ah… ACHOO!” and she sneezed. “Is that jacket, wool? I’m allergic,” and she sniffed before adding, “The mall costumes are a nice hypo-allergenic polyester,” under her breath. “ACHOO!”
Chris was half pulled, half pushed, down the main thoroughfare of the mall, right past the dry cleaners he so desperately needed to visit. Out of the corner of one eye, he saw the owner of the shop turning the open sign to closed. “The Missus is going to serve me my whiskers on a platter,” he muttered.
“What’s that?” the young woman, whom Chris now recognized as Noelle, asked. Chris smiled at the memory of reading her last letter to him, asking for a baby doll that cried and wondered if she perhaps still had that doll, tucked away somewhere at home.
Arriving at Santa’s Workshop, Noelle thrust Chris into Santa’s chair and he landed with a thud. “Santa’s here!” Noelle cried out with a cheery voice. “Now everyone, please line up in an orderly fashion and we’ll get started.”
A young man dressed up as an elf suddenly appeared beside him. “New guy, huh? Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it. Just ask them what they want and remind them to be good for the next couple of weeks. You’ve got to be careful with the screamers, though. Nothing worse than a kid screaming in your face because he’s afraid of the big guy in red. Oh, and be careful with any in diapers. Last year, a leaky one ruined Santa's suit.”
“I’ll do my best,” and Chris smiled to himself. “Thanks for the tips, Joey.”
“We don’t use our real names here, Santa. Against mall policy. Hey, how did you know…”
“THAT’S NOT THE REAL SANTA!” a man in his fifties and dressed in a cheap polyester Santa costume declared, towing mall security behind him. “I don’t know what he thinks he’s up to, impersonating Santa Claus and all, but I’m betting whatever it is, is no good. Maybe he’s one of those… you know…”
Then moments later, a chill travelled down Chris’ spine when he heard an angry and very familiar female voice saying, “Christopher Kringle, what do you think you’re doing. Did you pick up your spare suit at the cleaners? DID YOU?”
The children in line stood mesmerized by the sight before them. Two Santas and one Mrs. Claus arguing in the middle of Santa’s Workshop and surrounded by several mall security officers.
“Now, now Billy,” Chris said to the man in his fifties wearing the polyester Santa suit.
“Don’t you now, now me,” and Billy took a swing at Chris with his fist landing in Chris’ face. “And how the hell do you know my name, anyway?”
Joey the elf cried out, “I told you! We don’t use our real names here at Santa’s Workshop! IT'S AGAINST MALL POLICY!"
“Don’t you DARE hit my husband,” cried out Mrs. Claus, as she kicked Billy in the shin. “Take that, you big bully.”
“Why…” and Billy staggered back.
“ENOUGH!” cried one of the mall security officers. “We can’t have Santas punching one another in front of the children.”
“I kind of think that ship has sailed,” Joey the elf muttered, causing the children at the front of the line, and within earshot, to snicker.
Chris looked about, taking the mayhem surrounding him, in. “Jason, Thomas, Rhett,” he said, speaking directly to the security officers. “There will be no more trouble here. Mrs. Claus and I will be on our way home now. Billy, you take over for me at Santa’s Workshop. And Joey…”
“What did I tell you before?” Joey wailed. “No real names at Santa’s Workshop! It’s agai…”
“I know,” smiled Chris. “It’s against mall policy. I’m sorry about that. I just wanted to tell you to keep up the good elf work here at the workshop.”
Then with a twinkle in his eye, Chris placed a finger on the side of his nose and holding Mrs. Claus’ hand tightly, he and she disappeared before everyone’s eyes.
The children, the mall security officers, Joey the elf and Billy in the cheap polyester Santa suit all stared in astonishment at the spot where Chris and Mrs. Claus had once stood.
And off in the distance, almost like an echo reverberating throughout the mall corridors, they could hear Mrs. Claus’ voice chastising Chris. “Oh sure, now you use your Christmas magic. You couldn’t have used a little of that magic before and managed to pick up your spare suit from the cleaners? I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Christopher Kringle. And where DID you park that sleigh?”
“One last stop and I’m done,” Chris muttered as he pulled into the mall parking lot. “This holiday traffic is ridiculous. Thank goodness it’s not like this on Christmas Eve. I’d never get anything delivered.”
The parking lot was full and Chris found himself forced to drive around and around, looking for an empty spot. Eventually finding one by a side entrance, he pulled to a stop and climbed out. “This isn’t such a bad spot,” he murmured. “I believe the dry cleaners is at this end of the mall anyway. I should be able to get in and out in the wink of an eye.” He looked down at his watch. “And I’ll need to be quick. The Missus said the dry cleaners closes early each night.”
As Chris reached for the mall entrance door, he noticed an ‘Employees Only’ sign. “REINDEER PELLETS! If I have to walk around to the front of the mall, I won’t make it to the cleaners in time.” He thought for a moment before grabbing hold of the door handle. “But I really can’t see my using this entrance will do any harm.”
“Thank goodness you’re here!” a young woman exclaimed as she hurried down the mall corridor. “There are kids lined up halfway down the mall, all waiting to tell you what they want for Christmas.”
“Ho, ho, ho,” chuckled Chris. “You have me mistaken for someone else, Miss. I’m just here to pick up my…”
“Never mind that,” she scolded. “We need to get you over to the Santa’s Workshop display, pronto. She tugged on Chris’ jacket sleeve, pulling him along.
“Nice costume, by the way,” she commented. “That’s not mall issue, is it? Feels like a better quality… ah… ah… ah… ACHOO!” and she sneezed. “Is that jacket, wool? I’m allergic,” and she sniffed before adding, “The mall costumes are a nice hypo-allergenic polyester,” under her breath. “ACHOO!”
Chris was half pulled, half pushed, down the main thoroughfare of the mall, right past the dry cleaners he so desperately needed to visit. Out of the corner of one eye, he saw the owner of the shop turning the open sign to closed. “The Missus is going to serve me my whiskers on a platter,” he muttered.
“What’s that?” the young woman, whom Chris now recognized as Noelle, asked. Chris smiled at the memory of reading her last letter to him, asking for a baby doll that cried and wondered if she perhaps still had that doll, tucked away somewhere at home.
Arriving at Santa’s Workshop, Noelle thrust Chris into Santa’s chair and he landed with a thud. “Santa’s here!” Noelle cried out with a cheery voice. “Now everyone, please line up in an orderly fashion and we’ll get started.”
A young man dressed up as an elf suddenly appeared beside him. “New guy, huh? Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it. Just ask them what they want and remind them to be good for the next couple of weeks. You’ve got to be careful with the screamers, though. Nothing worse than a kid screaming in your face because he’s afraid of the big guy in red. Oh, and be careful with any in diapers. Last year, a leaky one ruined Santa's suit.”
“I’ll do my best,” and Chris smiled to himself. “Thanks for the tips, Joey.”
“We don’t use our real names here, Santa. Against mall policy. Hey, how did you know…”
“THAT’S NOT THE REAL SANTA!” a man in his fifties and dressed in a cheap polyester Santa costume declared, towing mall security behind him. “I don’t know what he thinks he’s up to, impersonating Santa Claus and all, but I’m betting whatever it is, is no good. Maybe he’s one of those… you know…”
Then moments later, a chill travelled down Chris’ spine when he heard an angry and very familiar female voice saying, “Christopher Kringle, what do you think you’re doing. Did you pick up your spare suit at the cleaners? DID YOU?”
The children in line stood mesmerized by the sight before them. Two Santas and one Mrs. Claus arguing in the middle of Santa’s Workshop and surrounded by several mall security officers.
“Now, now Billy,” Chris said to the man in his fifties wearing the polyester Santa suit.
“Don’t you now, now me,” and Billy took a swing at Chris with his fist landing in Chris’ face. “And how the hell do you know my name, anyway?”
Joey the elf cried out, “I told you! We don’t use our real names here at Santa’s Workshop! IT'S AGAINST MALL POLICY!"
“Don’t you DARE hit my husband,” cried out Mrs. Claus, as she kicked Billy in the shin. “Take that, you big bully.”
“Why…” and Billy staggered back.
“ENOUGH!” cried one of the mall security officers. “We can’t have Santas punching one another in front of the children.”
“I kind of think that ship has sailed,” Joey the elf muttered, causing the children at the front of the line, and within earshot, to snicker.
Chris looked about, taking the mayhem surrounding him, in. “Jason, Thomas, Rhett,” he said, speaking directly to the security officers. “There will be no more trouble here. Mrs. Claus and I will be on our way home now. Billy, you take over for me at Santa’s Workshop. And Joey…”
“What did I tell you before?” Joey wailed. “No real names at Santa’s Workshop! It’s agai…”
“I know,” smiled Chris. “It’s against mall policy. I’m sorry about that. I just wanted to tell you to keep up the good elf work here at the workshop.”
Then with a twinkle in his eye, Chris placed a finger on the side of his nose and holding Mrs. Claus’ hand tightly, he and she disappeared before everyone’s eyes.
The children, the mall security officers, Joey the elf and Billy in the cheap polyester Santa suit all stared in astonishment at the spot where Chris and Mrs. Claus had once stood.
And off in the distance, almost like an echo reverberating throughout the mall corridors, they could hear Mrs. Claus’ voice chastising Chris. “Oh sure, now you use your Christmas magic. You couldn’t have used a little of that magic before and managed to pick up your spare suit from the cleaners? I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Christopher Kringle. And where DID you park that sleigh?”
Tuesday, 17 November 2015
Refugees
The following was written as an assignment for a writer's group with the topic, 'Refugees.' Specific details such as locations may not be accurate but I hope the spirit of the piece comes through.
Dear Diary,
Entry #1. I was awakened in the middle of the night by men shouting and the sound of gunfire. I looked out my bedroom window and saw flashes of light off in the distance. Ummi pulled me away and told me to go waken my brother and help him dress. She says we are to leave for Turkey where we will be safe.
Entry #2. Ummi says I am responsible for the bag she packed for Khaled and myself. My brother is too young and too little to carry a bag of his own so we are to share the one. There’s not much in it. A blanket and some food. And my workbook and pencil. Ummi says I must practice my writing and maths. She says that when it’s safe to return to our village, I will go back to school. In the meantime, I must practice.
Entry #3. It has been four days and we’ve walked for miles. My feet ache. All we do is walk. Walk and walk and walk. I’m so very tired. I want to go home but with each day, home grows farther and farther away. Abbi says we will soon be at the border and there, there will be camps where we can rest. I pray we reach the border, soon.
Entry #4. There’s not much food left in our bags but Ummi says there is enough until we reach the border. At the border camps there will be food. I hope so. Ummi and Abbi didn’t eat supper last night. They don’t think I noticed but I did. They ate no supper so that Khaled and I could.
Entry #5. We reached the border today. I was so happy. At the first sight of the camps off in the distance, I felt invigorated. Even though my body ached from walking, I wanted to run toward those camps. Khaled did, too. I could feel his excitement as I tightly held his hand. I saw such relief in Ummi and Abbi’s faces. But the guards wouldn’t let us cross right away. There were others trying to cross, too. Other Syrians like us. Abbi says that we’ll be able to cross tomorrow. He says the guards can’t let everyone cross all at once. Khaled and I ate the last of the food in our bag at supper. Abbi and Ummi did not eat but tomorrow… Tomorrow there will be food for all of us.
Entry #6. I awoke with such excitement. Today was the day we were going to enter the refugee camp. Today was the day we were supposed to…
Entry #7. Yesterday, the border guards said they could allow only Khaled and me to enter the camp. They said there wasn’t room for Abbi and Ummi. They’d have to wait. Abbi begged the guards to let Ummi come with us. He pleaded with them, saying the children needed their mother. There were tears in his eyes. I’ve never seen Abbi cry before. Ummi sobbed. She held me close, crying so much my hair became wet from her tears. She kissed Khaled and me goodbye, saying everything would be okay and just before the guards pulled us away, she pressed her wedding ring into my hand and whispered in my ear to not let the guards see it. Abbi told us to say our daily prayers and told me to look after my baby brother. Khaled is my responsibility until we’re all reunited again.
Entry #8. The camp isn’t so bad, I suppose. We’re not the only children here without parents. Khaled tells me he’s lucky because even though Ummi and Abbi aren’t with us, he still has me. I held him close and kissed his cheek.
Entry #9. Today was my ninth birthday. I didn’t tell anyone at the camp and Khaled didn‘t realize. He’s only six. I pray Ummi and Abbi will be here when he turns seven.
Entry #10. The nights are so cold now. The people in charge gave us a blanket to share and we still have the one Ummi packed for us. Even with both blankets, we must sleep close together for warmth. There is no bed for us in the tent and the ground is very cold. Khaled keeps asking when spring will come but I don’t answer. How can I tell my brother that winter has only just begun?
Entry #11. A great many refugees arrived at the camp today. Khaled and I stood watching. Watching, hoping and praying that Ummi and Abbi would be among them but there was no trace of our parents. I told Khaled, next time.
Entry #12. I overheard a man from a nearby tent talking to his wife. He said he heard rumours that some of the refugees wanting to enter our camp were being trucked off to other camps. I pray Ummi and Abbi are not among them. I miss them.
Entry #13. Khaled misses Ummi and Abbi so much and cries every night now. He cries without making a sound but I can feel his little body shaking with each sob. I simply hold him to me, tightly.
Entry #14. I still have Ummi’s ring. I suppose she thought Khaled and I might need to sell it or trade it when we left this camp but I wonder…
Entry #15. I approached a guard today, asking if there was any way we might find Ummi and Abbi. I told him I could pay to help search. He laughed at me and told me to go look after my brother.
Entry #16. During the night when Khaled and I slept, someone came into our tent. I’m sure they were after Ummi’s ring but thankfully, it was not found.
Entry #17. Khaled and I will be leaving the camp soon, I am told. All children without parents or adult guardians are being taken somewhere else. Khaled is excited. An adventure, he says. I worry Ummi and Abbi will be unable to find us if we’re taken away.
Entry #18. Khaled and I will be leaving this camp very soon. We will be taken to Ankara to be processed for refugee status. They say that if we’re lucky, we might be going to Canada. I’m worried Canada will be even colder than here.
Entry #19. This will be my last entry for I am leaving this diary with a very kind lady who has looked out for Khaled and me. I have asked her to watch for Ummi and Abbi and to give them the diary when they eventually enter the camp and to tell them we are in Ankara or maybe even Canada. I pray we may find them soon.
Dear Diary,
Entry #1. I was awakened in the middle of the night by men shouting and the sound of gunfire. I looked out my bedroom window and saw flashes of light off in the distance. Ummi pulled me away and told me to go waken my brother and help him dress. She says we are to leave for Turkey where we will be safe.
Entry #2. Ummi says I am responsible for the bag she packed for Khaled and myself. My brother is too young and too little to carry a bag of his own so we are to share the one. There’s not much in it. A blanket and some food. And my workbook and pencil. Ummi says I must practice my writing and maths. She says that when it’s safe to return to our village, I will go back to school. In the meantime, I must practice.
Entry #3. It has been four days and we’ve walked for miles. My feet ache. All we do is walk. Walk and walk and walk. I’m so very tired. I want to go home but with each day, home grows farther and farther away. Abbi says we will soon be at the border and there, there will be camps where we can rest. I pray we reach the border, soon.
Entry #4. There’s not much food left in our bags but Ummi says there is enough until we reach the border. At the border camps there will be food. I hope so. Ummi and Abbi didn’t eat supper last night. They don’t think I noticed but I did. They ate no supper so that Khaled and I could.
Entry #5. We reached the border today. I was so happy. At the first sight of the camps off in the distance, I felt invigorated. Even though my body ached from walking, I wanted to run toward those camps. Khaled did, too. I could feel his excitement as I tightly held his hand. I saw such relief in Ummi and Abbi’s faces. But the guards wouldn’t let us cross right away. There were others trying to cross, too. Other Syrians like us. Abbi says that we’ll be able to cross tomorrow. He says the guards can’t let everyone cross all at once. Khaled and I ate the last of the food in our bag at supper. Abbi and Ummi did not eat but tomorrow… Tomorrow there will be food for all of us.
Entry #6. I awoke with such excitement. Today was the day we were going to enter the refugee camp. Today was the day we were supposed to…
Entry #7. Yesterday, the border guards said they could allow only Khaled and me to enter the camp. They said there wasn’t room for Abbi and Ummi. They’d have to wait. Abbi begged the guards to let Ummi come with us. He pleaded with them, saying the children needed their mother. There were tears in his eyes. I’ve never seen Abbi cry before. Ummi sobbed. She held me close, crying so much my hair became wet from her tears. She kissed Khaled and me goodbye, saying everything would be okay and just before the guards pulled us away, she pressed her wedding ring into my hand and whispered in my ear to not let the guards see it. Abbi told us to say our daily prayers and told me to look after my baby brother. Khaled is my responsibility until we’re all reunited again.
Entry #8. The camp isn’t so bad, I suppose. We’re not the only children here without parents. Khaled tells me he’s lucky because even though Ummi and Abbi aren’t with us, he still has me. I held him close and kissed his cheek.
Entry #9. Today was my ninth birthday. I didn’t tell anyone at the camp and Khaled didn‘t realize. He’s only six. I pray Ummi and Abbi will be here when he turns seven.
Entry #10. The nights are so cold now. The people in charge gave us a blanket to share and we still have the one Ummi packed for us. Even with both blankets, we must sleep close together for warmth. There is no bed for us in the tent and the ground is very cold. Khaled keeps asking when spring will come but I don’t answer. How can I tell my brother that winter has only just begun?
Entry #11. A great many refugees arrived at the camp today. Khaled and I stood watching. Watching, hoping and praying that Ummi and Abbi would be among them but there was no trace of our parents. I told Khaled, next time.
Entry #12. I overheard a man from a nearby tent talking to his wife. He said he heard rumours that some of the refugees wanting to enter our camp were being trucked off to other camps. I pray Ummi and Abbi are not among them. I miss them.
Entry #13. Khaled misses Ummi and Abbi so much and cries every night now. He cries without making a sound but I can feel his little body shaking with each sob. I simply hold him to me, tightly.
Entry #14. I still have Ummi’s ring. I suppose she thought Khaled and I might need to sell it or trade it when we left this camp but I wonder…
Entry #15. I approached a guard today, asking if there was any way we might find Ummi and Abbi. I told him I could pay to help search. He laughed at me and told me to go look after my brother.
Entry #16. During the night when Khaled and I slept, someone came into our tent. I’m sure they were after Ummi’s ring but thankfully, it was not found.
Entry #17. Khaled and I will be leaving the camp soon, I am told. All children without parents or adult guardians are being taken somewhere else. Khaled is excited. An adventure, he says. I worry Ummi and Abbi will be unable to find us if we’re taken away.
Entry #18. Khaled and I will be leaving this camp very soon. We will be taken to Ankara to be processed for refugee status. They say that if we’re lucky, we might be going to Canada. I’m worried Canada will be even colder than here.
Entry #19. This will be my last entry for I am leaving this diary with a very kind lady who has looked out for Khaled and me. I have asked her to watch for Ummi and Abbi and to give them the diary when they eventually enter the camp and to tell them we are in Ankara or maybe even Canada. I pray we may find them soon.
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