What left me in awe, and happens to be the most impressive feature of Ahmed’s present story, is its ‘set up’. Only a boy with wide range of reading can rise to this height of imagination. Next, he’s successfully kept his reader’s interest alive till the last word he dropped here. Hence, the story is brimming with suspense. A big Kudos for a job well done! (Humayun)

Despite my devoted care, I couldn’t save that boy from dying.

It was the year 1942.

World War II was at its height. My country Poland came under Nazi control. Being a fast Roman Catholic, I was exempted from the inhumane atrocities being perpetrated against the Jews. But the sights and memories of them still haunt my mind. This memory, like many others, has stuck to my mind ever since. Even today, it makes my heart bleed. And it bleeds profusely, because despite my devoted care, I couldn’t save that boy from dying.

The nazis had arrived with their hideous tanks. They destroyed our beloved city, Warsaw. Any building suspected to belong to Jews was immediately pulled down. A huge ghetto was built in the heart of Warsaw where once our lively marketplace used to exist. Jews from far and wide were dragged out of their houses, women and children alike, and put in the dirty ghetto, without proper clothing, food and shelter. From there they would be transported in bulk to extermination camps like Treblinka and Auschwitz, where they would be executed using the latest mass-murder methods.

May those Nazis burn in hell forever. And may my dead Jewish brothers and sisters rest in peace.

One night, I was about to eat my porridge when I heard a child’s painful moaning outside. I quickly wore my jacket and rushed to the nearby garbage dump where I perceived the sound to be coming from. In the dim light that my lamp emanated, I saw a child; perhaps 10 years old, lying among the waste, which now mainly came from the Nazis. I lifted him up, wrapped him in my jacket, took him inside my house and laid him on the hearth where I had a crackling fire.

When I looked at his body, for once I turned away with shock. He had been shot three times; once on his shoulder and twice on his legs. Blood was oozing out from his wounds. I cursed the Nazis for the millionth time in the day, and at once became resolute to save the poor boy.

I anesthetized him, plucked out the bullets and applied disinfectant on his wounds to prevent infection. Already there was pus in them, so I was afraid it might get worse. In the little Hebrew I knew, I began chatting with him. He certainly was a smart kid as I sensed from his talk. His name was Shalom. His parents were gold traders, but were now in the ghetto. I comforted him saying that he would soon meet them. Later, I bathed him with hot water, dressed him in my nephew’s clothes after which he fell asleep.

In the days that followed, we developed a strong bond. I liked him due to his cuteness, wit and thankfulness. I especially remember him thanking me repeatedly and his eyes reflecting gratitude. We would talk for hours like small kids. I thought of him as my own son. I knew that if Nazis knew about this, they would shoot me for hiding a Jew. So I kept him concealed at all times.

However, his wounds got worse than ever. I could only pray for him, because I couldn’t consult a doctor fearing leak of news. One day, he asked for strawberries. Seeing that utterly innocent but weak face, I set out right away determined to get them. They were unavailable mostly due to food rationing by Nazis. I did get them finally, though at a high cost. Feeling immensely jubilant, I returned home.

“Shalom! Here you are! Farm fresh juicy strawberries!” I shouted out with joy.

Soon, I saw his expressionless face. Shocked, instinctively, I checked his pulse on the wrist, but then dropped it instantly. Tears swelled up in my eyes.

He was dead.

Ahmed Ali
O' Level Final Year
PakTurk Schools
Chak Shahzad
Islamabad