Abbas Nazzari


In the middle of the night I felt a palm on my arm. It was my mother, with an anxious look on her face. She said “we have to leave.” Those words made me panic. I could hear my breathing going faster, faster, and faster. I dashed out of my bed and went to pack my clothes. I was worried that the equipment I needed wouldn’t fit in my bag. As I fled outside, a bus appeared in front of my eyes, the smell of gas leaking, the sound of men rushing, and the sound of babies crying. I rushed inside not knowing what was happening but was worried about what my parents were up to.

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