Aily Sher

The Dark Beginning

The sun was setting, painting the sky with fiery colors of red and orange, but the desert was still so hot that the sand burned under little Sakiee’s feet. She had come to this camp with her family only ten days ago. It was supposed to be a place where they could stand up for what was right. Now, it was destroyed. The tents were burned down, and the air smelled like smoke and ashes.

Sakiee was only four years old. Her clothes were torn and burned from the flames that had spread through the camp. Her small hands hurt from trying to put out the fire on her dress. Beside her stood her father’s sister, a kind and holy woman who was taking care of Sakiee and the other children. Her aunt held Sakiee close, her arms trying to protect the little ones from all the terrible things that had happened that day.

Sakiee’s baby brother, who was only six months old, was wrapped in a soft cloth in her aunt’s arms. He cried softly, his tiny lips dry and cracked. There had been no water for days, even though a river flowed nearby. The enemy had blocked their way to it, refusing to let them drink. The thought of cool water seemed like a dream now, as every mouth in the camp was parched and every throat burned with thirst.

The desert around them was silent except for the sound of the wind blowing through the burned camp. It was hard to breathe because of the heat and the smell of smoke. Everything was destroyed—the tents, the food, the water. There was nothing left but pain and silence.

But not far away, the people who had attacked them were celebrating. They were laughing and shouting, banging their swords against their shields. Their voices carried across the desert like cruel echoes. They feasted and drank, their joy making the pain in Sakiee’s camp even harder to bear.

Even though Sakiee was tired, hungry, thirsty, and scared, she didn’t cry. She held her aunt’s hand tightly and stood quietly, watching the sun disappear behind the sand dunes. She didn’t understand why all of this had happened, but she knew her family was strong. They had come here for something important, and even though they had lost so much, they hadn’t lost their faith or their courage.

As the sun sank lower, the desert grew darker, and the shadows stretched long across the burning sand. Sakiee clutched her aunt’s hand tightly, her small face streaked with tears and soot. She looked up at her aunt with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Auntie, where is my dad?” Sakiee asked softly. Her voice trembled, but there was a spark of hope that maybe her father was just nearby.

Her aunt looked down at her, the pain in her eyes hidden behind silence. She opened her mouth to speak but stopped, her lips quivering. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words. Instead, she held Sakiee closer, as if shielding her from the truth.

But Sakiee knew. Deep down, her young heart understood what no one dared to say. She gently pulled away and began to run into the vast, empty desert.

“Dad!” she called, her small voice echoing in the stillness. “Dad, where are you? Please come back!” Her feet burned on the scorching sand, and her dress, already torn and singed, flapped in the dry wind.

She stumbled as she ran, her little legs carrying her farther away from the safety of her aunt. The desert stretched endlessly before her, silent and unkind. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she looked around, hoping to see a familiar figure in the distance.

“Dad, it’s getting dark! I can’t see you!” she cried out, her voice breaking. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the dust and sweat on her cheeks. She clutched her aching arms, where blisters from the fire still throbbed. “I’m hurt, Dad... please, where are you?”

Sakiee’s cries grew softer as the wind carried them away. She knew that every man in her family was gone. The uncles and cousins who used to smile at her, protect her, and make her laugh—they weren’t coming back. She knew, but her heart refused to accept that her father was among them.

The desert didn’t answer her. The only sound was the soft rustling of the wind, the distant shouts of the victors celebrating their cruel triumph, and the faint whispers of grief that seemed to hang in the air.

Sakiee fell to her knees, her small body trembling with exhaustion and pain. “Please, Dad,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I’m scared.”

In the growing darkness, her aunt’s voice called out for her, desperate to bring her back to safety. But Sakiee stayed where she was for a moment longer, staring into the empty desert, still hoping to see her father walking toward her.