Petrified and worried. I looked up to my terror-stricken parents. Fear fought in their
eyes. I was too young to know why, too young to understand the rumours of entering
the border before us. I could barely stand, let alone join the fight. In their eyes. Or at
I do remember small parts of our entrance. I recall people on the shore smiling. Not
smiling like happy, but a false grin plastered on each person’s face. The dreams
have flashes at this point. I don’t know what that means… but the next memory is
being separated from my parents. I recollect the tears, the embraces, the mumbles
and the pulling. We were pulled apart.
Comrades from home told us this would be a safe relocation. They even said we
would be free and happy. How wrong they were.
Living behind bars isn’t a life. I thought people only got put in prison if they did
something wrong. All I thought I had done was cross a border. I was too young to
realise the continuous effects of our crossing: how we would never be seen in the
same light, how we could never have the same opportunities. Not because we don’t
deserve it, or because we aren’t clever enough, but because of the very fact we
crossed. You learn to accept this.
Eve used to be company but now she has gone too. Taken away by the darkness in
the corridor. I had made it two years now: since she left. Sometimes I hear
screaming through the walls. I used to be scared but I’m used to it now. Eve hugged
me and told me it was alright. She was my only beacon of knowledge. Taught me all
I know. It’s only the darkness taking another hostage. She told me never to allow it to
take me. But she let it take her.
Now I am barely eight and I still stare into the darkness. Watching as it consumes my
parents from behind the bars. Will I ever see them again? I doubt it. I didn’t see Eve
again. Is that the only way to escape this place? Do you have to cross the border?
White walls. Metal doors. Strong bars. Darkness mocks me. Laughs in my face as I
contemplate the journey. Its fingers reach out to me. An icy shiver shots down my
spine. It touches me. Inviting me.
I will not enter your prison. I know there is a way out of here without playing your
I wasn’t ready when the way finally came. I spent a few seconds thinking the dark
fingers had consumed me. The scary thing is that I accepted it. Anything would be
better than my current situation.
However, my situation isn’t what I thought it was a few seconds ago. Now I am
being dragged down a pristine corridor with tall, uniformed men on either side of me.
Where am I going? Over The Border?