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A Burden Printable Version PRINTABLE VERSION
by Awais Aftab, Pakistan Aug 5, 2004
Human Rights   Short Stories


Welcome to our camp Mr. Happy! I see you are here to make a report about us. Perhaps you work for some news-agency and are here not because you feel sorry for us but because you can feel that it is a 'juicy' story. Am I right?

Well, if you want to listen then listen. I have nightmares every night; every single night; horrible ones; true ones. I see my family again. I see we are all happy, we are all smiling. My mom looks at me, picks me up and kisses me. My dad tells me how much proud he is of me. My brothers and sisters gather around me and tell me how much I mean to them. I am beaming, I am happy; I feel the fibers of life and joy passing through me.

Suddenly I hear a loud sound in the sky. I see drops of fear and horror appearing on my parents. With a loud bang they all die. Blood is all over the place, everywhere. I wake up screaming. As I wake up I hope that there would be my Mother to comfort me; but there is none. She is dead; like my other family members. She died in a bomb blast. I weep till morning.

When dawn arrives I come out of my refugee camp. I see faces all around; sad faces, angry faces, pitiable faces, but not a single happy face. Welcome to our world. Welcome to the world of agony and pain. Welcome to the world of hunger and thirst; where you crave for every drop of water and every crumble of bread. Welcome to our world Mr. Happy!

Sometimes I wonder why I had to suffer like this. Why do I have to lose my family? Why do I have to beg for food and water while the rest of the world eats ‘till it’s full? They must have hearts made of stone for not helping us, for leaving us here just for some political benefit. I may never find out. It’s hard to believe that 'humans' threw those bombs on us. Is their conscience dead or are they not even human at all. I wonder how they manage to sleep at night even when they know how much pain they have caused.

For the rest of the world I am nothing but a part of the statistics; one out of millions of homeless refugees. A statistic to be published in newspapers; a statistic to be cited in speeches and debates; a statistic to be used to arouse human rights organizations for their own purpose. Welcome to our world of statistics, Mr. Happy!

We are a burden on the chest of mother Earth. We are useless people. We are the victims of oppression and injustice. We don't deserve to live. There is no place for us to live. Kill us and get rid of this burden.



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Writer Profile
Awais Aftab

Writing has been a passion, a love ever since I learned to write. For me, writing is a means of expression of 'secret tears and secret pleasures'. True writing comes from the heart and often it is the one to find you, not you the one to find it. Writing gives me power, the strength to carry on, the will to live and to live in a better way. It helps me find deeper meaning in the world around me and to understand myself much better. I can't survive without writing. For me, my writings are the whispers of life, in which the glory and sorrow of life echoes. For me, these are the glittering tears, whose every flash encompasses a thousand aspects of life. I believe that, 'I write; therefore I am.' However, true ease in writing comes from art, and I still have to learn a lot about that.

Ricky | Oct 12th, 2004
Extremely powerful!

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