THOSE AWAKE... 

By Tessa Harvey

She was standing in a country she knew very well. It was evening. The heat was oppressive. The dirt was dusty and red. No one was around.

    Then a woman slowly made her way to the steps of a nearby building. Imelda recognised it as a small hospital. A young boy was helping the woman who was clearly ill and in great pain. With a shock, Imelda recognised her own mother and older brother, though only part of her face showed through her dark heavy Muslim garments.

    She had read about this incident in a book. Now it was being enacted before her very eyes. She longed to move forward, to help, but was held in place. It was her dream.

    A group of soldiers came around the corner.

    "You, boy, go home. Woman, do not bother this young man with your woman problems." The boy moved away at once, but not very far. He crept into a dark doorway, beyond their vision.

    The men beat the woman, knocking her down. She crumpled to the filthy earth. Blows rained down on the parched soil. The woman lay motionless, blood pooling around her head and legs.

    Bored, the men moved on. No-one came out of the hospital. No-one left their houses. A palpable stillness filled the tormented air. The darkness deepened.

    The boy crept back. Somehow, half carrying, half dragging, he got the woman moving.

    Her dream faded. She woke up, terrified. Her nana had told her a little of that story. That she had been that baby and had survived. A miracle.

    Until now, she had not known the details. She wept for the family she had subsequently lost while still a small girl.

    It was time to dress for work. She determined her life would not be wasted.