Halima

The fires glow brilliantly. The smoke climbs up inside my lungs and makes me cough. Ashes fly around in the breeze, the only remains of those already burned. Around me, the crowd jeers as the prison doors open. They shove each other for a better view. Dust swirls up around and I can't see who's being lead out to their death. The smoky air mixes with the sickly scent of the rotting fruit that people throw at the prisoner. I hear them spitting and swearing violently. I close my eyes tightly. I feel the warmth of the fire on my cheeks. I push my way to the front of the crowd, ignoring the jeers of the people now being flung in my direction. Her hands are cuffed in front of her and she is escorted by three uniformed police officers, their faces set in scowls. Halima looks haggard, wearing a simple robe, now splattered with fruit, and no hijab. Her face is bruised and her right eye is swollen shut. Triangular scars pattern her neck. Her dark hair is mussed, a result of many nights sleeping in a cell. She is no beauty anymore, but she still holds her head up proudly. She stands tall. Her almond shaped eyes stare straight ahead; she never deigns to notice the crowd that has come to watch her die. The only sign that she is the least bit scared are her shaking hands. "Halima!" I call out, desperate for her to hear me. "Halima!" I call out, my voice sounding strangled. I gulp back tears; I need to be strong for her. She turns to me and her icy face melts. The guards try to prod her along but she won't budge. "Praise, Allah," she says "You're alive." Suddenly she's standing right in front of me. I reach out and stroke her matted curls. She starts to sob. I wipe the tears from her cheeks, ignoring my own. We stare intensely into each other's faces, trying to memorize every feature. We're both as good as dead, anyway. "How did this happen, Mina?" I shake my head. No use worrying about what went wrong. "The others?" she whispers, scared to ask. I open my mouth to answer, and then shut it abruptly. She looks down. Out of the corner of my eyes I see the guards coming towards us. I reach out and hug her limp body tightly. The guards take one her arms roughly, and shove her away. "Remember us," she screams to me. "Tell the world what they've done!" I hear her labored breathing as she is forced beside the great fire. "I will!" I yell, pushing my hijab off of my sweaty forehead. One of the guards in the neat, brown uniforms pulls out a piece of paper. He clears his throat "This girl, Halima Ali, daughter of Ahmeed Ali, is sentenced to death for her actions against the state of Afghanistan. She has brought dishonor to her family. May Allah have mercy on her soul." The guard sighs and runs his fingers through his greasy hair. He folds the creamy paper neatly and puts it in his pocket. He takes Halima's handcuffs off and says something in her ear. She turns her head ever so slightly to look at me. I give her a shaky smile, and she nods, as if saying good-bye. Her entire body trembles. She turns facing forward. An officer walks behind her, and with his giant brown hands, shoves her into the flames. She curls up into a little ball inside the fiery constraints. The crowd is cheering once again as her tiny body blackens and is consumed by the fire. Her eyes flutter once, and then close. The smell of burning flesh fills the square. My screams can't be heard over the crowd's awful chanting. All I can see is Halima, the sweet girl who refused to kill her hens, even when they wouldn't lie anymore. The girl who gave nearly all her rations to her younger sisters, even though she herself was starving. The girl who planted the beautiful flowers every year, even though they wouldn't grow in the weak soil. Tears run down my face. Ashes float through the air. Whose are they? Maybe Kinah, so brave and daring. Or faithful Safia, who followed Kinah until her death. Rawah, so funny and proud. Beautiful Husna, my best friend, who died in my arms. I'm the only one left, I think soberly. The only one.