Stockholm four PM and almost dark. My Iphone vibrates.
The caller-ID begins with +49, that’s Germany.
Who of my siblings could it be? Lila maybe.
“Hello, who’s it?”
“Is this Achmed?”
Female voice, not Lila.
“Oh, I’m Sarah, Lila gave me you number… before… “.
“… before the truck came.”
“Achmed, she’s dead”.
“My father’s still in Turkey. I need Skype to reach him, can I call you back in an hour?”.
“Yes…. it’s my own phone.”
In Damascus we lived in the same street, now we’re scattered everywhere.
Do we need death to bring us together again?
When I saw the stumps it made me think of a scattered family, and how many families become scattered among the refugees. I assume that’s chain migration can be about family values too.
Rochelle hosts Friday Fictioneers each week, and on Wednesday we all can start to link up new stories. I will try to read as many as possible from now and through the weekend.
January 31, 2018