We're very proud to publish this story by Maia D. Thomlinson, which won the grand prize of $300 in the 2016 Spring Writing Contest with wordhaus literary magazine. A storyteller from birth, Maia is a poet, circus artist, and lover of language. She lives in a city in the middle of Canada, but hopes to one day see her words touch lives around the world.
You can see all the stories from the writing contest here. Also, don't forget to sign up for our 5th Anniversary Writing Contest, which opened last week.
Run. Run. Run.
As light bleeds into this endless plane, I run towards the rising sun.
I run from destruction, from my own pounding heart. Gun shots fire. Still, I run.
Pressed tight up against my chest, my baby brother whimpers. The tall grass grabs for his tiny, bare feet, and I clutch him tighter still. This precious cargo is all I have left; no more family, no village, no home.
“Mama,” he whispers, and tugs at my braid.
“I’m sorry,” I pant, racing on.
There’s no time to think, no time for tears. We’re refugees now, on the run.
“Mama,” his voice is louder this time.
“I know,” a tear rolls down my cheek.
I can’t tell him, not yet, not now. He’s so young, he won’t understand.
“Mama,” he cries, but I have no words.
All I can do is run.
***
Angry shouts and hammering footsteps grow soft as the men fall behind. Perhaps soldiers tire of chasing such worthless quarry.
The midday sun sits high in the sky when the only breath I hear is my own.
We’re alone, the thought pops into my mind, at last, they’ve given up.
My aching feet refuse to stop. Forever, I could run.
Run from my problems, run from the pain . . .
Mama always swore I could run for days.
Mama.
All adrenaline leaves my body in a rush that leaves me gasping for air; I can no longer see where I should step, but my feet fail care. The savannah swims before me in a blurry pool of thirsty grass. I stumble a moment longer before my cargo and I collapse, on the ground in a heap.
No, you must keep running, Asha—you’ve got a promise to keep.
Feebly, I attempt to push myself back up to my knees.
One inch, two inches . . . My baby brother chooses this moment to speak.
“Mama,” he shouts in my ear. He’s impatient. He isn’t even three.
“MAMA’S DEAD!” I scream, falling back on my arm.
There is no more fight left in me.
The boy begins to sob as if he understood my words.
“Oh, Rahim,” I murmur, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .” I stop. I can’t lie anymore—it’s true.
Helpless, I watch the memory unfold before my eyes, forced to relive each horror a second time.
It was still night when they came to burn our village and take our people, our homes; maybe they believed if they acted under darkness, the shadows would hide their crimes. How is it fair to attack when everyone sleeps, lulled by false pretense of peace?
Someone shakes my shoulders, hard. Mama, just five more minutes.
Smoke fills my lungs, then the gun shots begin—with each crack, I jump, wide-awake.
“Mama?” Rahim is stirring.
“Shhhhh . . . Mama’s here . . .”
With a fierce hug, she places him in my arms.
“Asha,” her gaze is solemn. I cough, shake my head, confused. “I love you, don’t ever forget that.” She kisses my forehead, pulls away. “It’s time now, you must go.”
I whip my head from side to side. “I can’t leave, not without you—I WON’T!”
“Yes, you will.”
She stands to usher me off, and that’s when the bullet finds its mark.
Her shirt grows red. She falls to her knees.
“NO!” I’m frozen inside.
A woman so strong, so selfless, so kind to all who knew her well—she crumples, an imploding star, a brilliant super nova.
“Run, Asha. Run!”
These are the last words that leave her mouth. I turn away.
Where can I hide?
Another bullet whizzes an inch over my head.
You can’t.
You must run. Run. Run.
***
I lie on my back concealed by grass, and watch the clouds float by. There is no sound but for Rahim’s raspy breaths; he fell asleep when he ceased to cry.
The sun nearly touches the horizon, and I have no thoughts for what to do for the night. Rahim must be hungry, but there is no food. I am numb in the fading light.
Then I hear it—footsteps crash nearby. I tense, now on high alert.
Don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t make a sound, maybe they’ll fail to notice you here.
Earth quakes beneath my head, and the thunder slowly grows louder.
I squeeze my eyes shut, clutch Rahim tight.
Cool metal presses into my forehead. An eternity passes in silence.
Please don’t, I pray, don’t let me die.
“Ehsan,” a rough voice barks across the plane; my heart jumps into my throat. “Did you find something there, or what?”
I blink, I stare, I challenge the soldier inspecting my face. Do you have any humanity left?
Unsure, he bites his lip.
Rahim stirs on my chest, stretches a tiny hand up to tug at my braid.
“Mama?” he whispers.
My own hand trembles against my leg.
“Ehsan?”
In a sudden swift movement, the young man pushes himself to attention. “Nothing here, sir.” He coughs, looking down at his boot. “Just a dead squirrel, is all, sir.”
“Well, then,” the voice is sharp, “you better stop wasting my time. Move on.”
“Sir, yes sir.”
I am a statue, perfectly still, until the two voices fade into the twilight.
“Rahim,” I breathe, “the Merciful. You saved us today, you did.”
I lift him up to watch his tiny face. Inexplicably, he giggles. “Asha!”
I roll to my feet with the boy in my arms, turn to nod at the sun, turn away, and run.
I am not running away this time.
Towards hope, forever I will run.
Run, run, run.
First of all, I can see why your story is a contest winner – terrific imagery and a sense of energy that grabbed hold of me from the start. I am sure others also were wrapped in your story’s action and energy. What was especially helpful to me was to experience how you laid out your story, how you formatted the story, what you emphasized, how you kept certain words working at my thought process, how you created energy not just by the words you drew upon but the physical layout of the story. This was a great story and a great lesson. Thank you.
This is my first official comment as I begin to consider how I too might use the writing skills I have developed as a pastor (now retired), to broaden my message’s appeal and content. A former student (yes I also taught), asked if all I would be writing were sermons. I hope that is not all she thinks I can do. But the proof of that will be how I develop with the help of the resources found here and eventually, as part of the writing community Joe has established.
Thank you again for your help.
Oh wow this is amazing! The writing was simple but captivating and I think that’s what really matters. I really hope to grasp readers like this someday.
Great hook. Great story. I enjoyed reading it.
So emotional. I was struck from the very beginning.
Wowza. Amazing story. Congrats!
Trying to formulate my thoughts on your story makes me realise I don’t know how to give feedback. I can list what I liked and didn’t like about it, but I don’t know how helpful my feedback is. (Time for a post on giving constructive feedback?)
I agree with Jonathan, I love the imagery and the energy in your story. Your use of present tense and simple language keeps readers in the moment. No distracting or unnecessary words.
I was particularly struck by how well you handled ‘Show, don’t tell’. Many key moments in your story, such as the mother’s death and the soldier finding Asha, are extra effective because they’re so subtly shown. For myself at least, I struggle with melodrama at key moments. It’s easy to get away with describing the character’s emotions in minute detail, but you handled Asha’s reaction to her mother’s death in just one sentence. “A woman so strong, so selfless, so kind to all who knew her well—she crumples, an imploding star, a brilliant super nova.”
One nitpick is that I didn’t see why Asha credits Rahim for saving them. If anything, it was the soldier’s mercy that did. Is she thanking Rahim for calling her ‘mama’ and triggering the soldier’s sympathy?
Final assorted comments. I liked how your beginning and ending lines are identical, although the first is said in despair and the second in hope. Contrasting ‘running from’ and ‘running to’ was very clever. Lastly, it’s interesting how the sun is rising at the start of the story when the characters are in trouble, and setting at the end when they are free. The opposite of the normal connotations for sunrise and sunset.
Thanks for writing this story, and I wish you all the best for your future writing career!
Stella, I’d say you did an admirable job of feedback. You were quite specific, both affirming and offering constructive analysis. If I were the author of this story, your feedback would have been received as a great resource.
Thanks Jonathan! I’m encouraged you think so. Learning to give good feedback is as much a skill as learning to write a good story. Hope to improve on both!
Stella, thanks for the feedback! Asha isn’t really crediting Rahim for saving them, (she is thankful for the soldier’s mercy) but rather she is commenting that it was the soldier seeing and hearing Rahim’s voice that melted his heart, prompting his mercy. Does that make sense?
Thanks again. 🙂
Hi Maia, thanks for commenting on my post! (I’m honoured, how often does one get to talk to a real writer?) Yes, your explanation makes sense. I think this part of the story stood out to me because I saw this as the real climax. Ie the turning point came when Asha found new hope to go on, not when the soldier decided to let them live. So I asked about Rahim because I’m curious how she found that hope.
I just thought of a suggestion to improve, with the caveat that it’s very ‘macro’ and might possibly result in a different story from what you intended to write. To me the best stories are those where there is a clash of values. So Zootopia is not just about whether a bunny can become a police officer, it’s about whether animals can truly transcend their species or whether they are forever defined by them. Similarly your story is not just about whether Asha can escape the soldiers, it’s about daring to hope (‘running to’) versus giving in to despair (‘running away’).
Your story could be stronger if you emphasized Asha’s journey from despair to hope. Right now she’s a purely reactive protagonist for most of the story, right up to the end when she finally displays ownership: ‘I am not running away this time. Towards hope, forever I will run.’ Asha’s character comes through most strongly in these lines. The problem is that she did nothing to ‘earn’ this hope. Her happy ending depends entirely on the actions of her baby brother and a random soldier.
Could we make Asha more proactive earlier? What if Asha wants to hope and that’s what gets her mother killed? Eg her mother wanted to flee the village earlier, but Asha expresses hope that the rumours of the soldiers’ inhumanity are exaggerated. That might make her climactic return to hope more impressive. (Though as I said this is quite a ‘macro’ change, and might result in a different story from what you intended.)
Do you mind if I ask what made you decide to write this story? The level of empathy and realism is quite stunning. I particularly like how there are enough details for realism, yet the details don’t tie this to any particular geographical conflict. It’s not a ‘political’ story, it could be anyone. That’s what makes it powerful. Asha’s situation isn’t something I would associate with a writer living in the middle of Canada – how did you research this, and what made you write it?
Thank you for that feedback – I will definitely take that more into consideration in the future, when I write more stories! This was a story that mostly wrote itself, and I quite liked the result. But thank you, I see the value in your suggestion.
Refugees are a cause that is dear to my heart, mainly because I can’t imagine losing my family and home, and I have often felt like my voice wasn’t heard, which is something that refugees suffer from regularly. I am working on a project, researching online and interviewing refugees so I can tell their stories in a circus show, then also write a book of short stories (with a few poems) inspired buy their true stories, so that their voice might be heard. (Also to bring more awareness to this issue.) This story, however, was inspired by a TEDTalk. I guess all my research helped as well, but that video sparked this story. That and the line, “Run. Run. Run.”
That’s so wonderful. If you still recall it, could you share the link to that TEDTalk? Where I live, migrant workers are an issue – they do all the low-paying jobs that locals don’t want to do, yet are shunned socially by most Singaporeans. I’ve volunteered with organisations that help them a few times but am embarrassed to say life keeps getting in the way of any longer-term commitment.
So glad that someone like you is working to bring more attention to refugees. Writing to give a voice to the voiceless is something I personally aspire to as well. It’s probably the most beautiful way to describe what writers do.
Hello Maia,
Big, big CON-GRA-TU- LA-TIONS to you. I like your style!
congrats . This story was amazing !! The imagery you used really pulled me in .
Congratulations, Maia.
Your story took me by storm! The dinner bell rang, but I couldn’t tear myself away until I reached the end.
I like how you ‘show’ instead of ‘telling’ from your descriptions and dialogue, and the way you ‘tighten’ up your story.
You deserve first place.
Cheers!
Did anyone else notice the rhyming??? And the rhythm and use of sounds in general. So cool! It took me a while to catch it; I couldn’t understand what it was that was lulling me onward. Maia cushioned a harsh reality with an experience of escape in reading. Very cool. The syntax did at times read a little abnormal, but she did an awesome job of reigning it in to read smoothly.
It has a beat to it, especially when you read it out loud, the tempo is evident. I read it a few times, still crying a little. It is an experience to read this story. Kudos, Maia!
So powerfully emotional! Congratulations Maia.
Congratulations! This story is beautifully written. You grab the reader’s attention and carry us on a precarious journey. High on emotion, the dialogue is sparse but effective. Unfortunately, the story reflects a worldly condition too familiar but intense when described in first person. Thanks for sharing your story.
You handled this beautifully. Powerful and polished. Congratulations on your well-deserved award.
Very good. Congratulations!!!!
Congratulations on your win. Your poetic rhythm is admirable. Overall, this is the kind of story I avoid reading, so my feedback won’t mean much.
I loved it. Yes, it is a winner. Congratulations.
Excellent work. Takes us to a situation most of us rarely even consider, never mind could write about so realistically.
When she says the boy’s name, then “the Merciful”, I concluded that’s what the name means in her own language. And he saved them because his action sparked a bit of compassion in the soldier. If you mean something else, you might want to rework that a bit.
The only thing I’d omit is the last line in large print. For me it’s sufficient to say:
“I…nod at the sun, turn away, and run.
Towards hope forever I will run.”
I’d like to read the rest of the story, how she finds hope in the end.
Hi Christine,
(It’s not even my story, and I’m commenting on your suggested changes. Haha.) I’m in two minds whether omitting that line would improve the story.
To me, the line ‘I am not running away this time’ conveys Asha’s newfound courage, contrasted with her fear at the start of the story. Like the line ‘Here I stand, and here I’ll stay’ in Frozen’s ‘Let It Go’. This line also makes explicit the parallel between ‘running away’ and ‘running to’. If you remove it, there are no more references to ‘running away’ at the end of the story.
On the other hand, omitting the line results in an unexpectedly poetic final three sentences of the story:
I roll to my feet with the boy in my arms, turn to nod at the sun, turn away, and run.
Towards hope forever I will run.
Run, run, run.
As the old cliche goes, “It’s six of one and half a dozen of the other,” I suppose. Melody is in the ear of the listener…er…reader?
When she says the boy’s name, then “the Merciful” that is what the name means in her language, and that is basically what I was trying to convey. Thanks for the feedback!
I love the lyricism of the story, and the flow of it. I also love, love, LOVE the choice of your charecters’ names; Ehsan which means charity and compassion, Rahim which means merciful, A(i?)sha which means She Who Lives. Congrats on your win, and hope to read more of your work!
I love the tightness, no wasted words. I feel like I was there in the swamps, surrounded by trees running and hiding after vigilante soldiers have attacked the small village of straw huts or tents. In describing her mother, Asha is really describing herself. Rahim is innocent and totally dependent on his sister. Such a sweet, heart wrenching story.