Jibril looked down, his brow furrowing and there’s hesitance.
“His name was Samer and we were from the same place in Syria. We were best
friends and when my mother died... he was all I had left,” Jibril smiles a
little. Samer who made sure he was okay, who helped him learn how to
survive with no home.
“We would lay together, even in the desert. He would read the little prince
to me, using a feather as a book mark. He read it so much,” he murmurs.
“The last time, when our hands touched, I tried to kiss him and he reminded
me his father expected him to have a wife and children... he was a dutiful
son.”
Jibril frowns. “He was so serious... but he followed me when I wanted to
follow Al-Masih. He stayed with me for so long as he were starving in the
desert but...”
he hesitated and then shakes his head. “Then a man came and recruited him
to a man he said would train him to be a good Muslim. He didn’t say
goodbye. He took the book and left the feather while I slept. I thought I’d
never see him again. Rhy. I wish sometimes that I hadn’t.”
The next part is the most difficult. “After I was taken into Isreal, some
Imams saw me as a promise and some saw me as ... something bad,” he
whispers. “An Imam made me memorize a speech because I wasn’t able to read
and I was about to give it... the mosque was full and in walked a man in a
vest. I saw him, his face. It was Samer. I stared at him. He was so
scared... I think he hasn’t wanted to be there. All I could say to him was
God is the greatest. it only took a second once he saw me but he
dropped the button. He wasn’t going to...”
Jibril trails off, sure Rhy could understand.
“But there was someone with a remote...” Jibril’s face contorted with the
memory of what he’d seen. “Almost everyone died. I should have died.”
That would explain some of Jibril’s scars. “Those groups... they prey on
young boys in poverty...ones without choices and they don’t know what it is
they are being given to.”
no subject
Jibril looked down, his brow furrowing and there’s hesitance.
“His name was Samer and we were from the same place in Syria. We were best friends and when my mother died... he was all I had left,” Jibril smiles a little. Samer who made sure he was okay, who helped him learn how to survive with no home.
“We would lay together, even in the desert. He would read the little prince to me, using a feather as a book mark. He read it so much,” he murmurs. “The last time, when our hands touched, I tried to kiss him and he reminded me his father expected him to have a wife and children... he was a dutiful son.”
Jibril frowns. “He was so serious... but he followed me when I wanted to follow Al-Masih. He stayed with me for so long as he were starving in the desert but...”
he hesitated and then shakes his head. “Then a man came and recruited him to a man he said would train him to be a good Muslim. He didn’t say goodbye. He took the book and left the feather while I slept. I thought I’d never see him again. Rhy. I wish sometimes that I hadn’t.”
The next part is the most difficult. “After I was taken into Isreal, some Imams saw me as a promise and some saw me as ... something bad,” he whispers. “An Imam made me memorize a speech because I wasn’t able to read and I was about to give it... the mosque was full and in walked a man in a vest. I saw him, his face. It was Samer. I stared at him. He was so scared... I think he hasn’t wanted to be there. All I could say to him was God is the greatest. it only took a second once he saw me but he dropped the button. He wasn’t going to...”
Jibril trails off, sure Rhy could understand.
“But there was someone with a remote...” Jibril’s face contorted with the memory of what he’d seen. “Almost everyone died. I should have died.”
That would explain some of Jibril’s scars. “Those groups... they prey on young boys in poverty...ones without choices and they don’t know what it is they are being given to.”