I awoke…
Not to sunlight, nor to the sound of voices—
but because of the pain still devouring my frail body.
I lifted my shirt, stained with dried blood, just enough to see the new marks added onto me.
The wounds burned with every breath that entered my lungs.
Painful.
Making the burns across my skin look even more grotesque.
Dark red lines stretched across my chest and stomach—
some swollen,
others crusted over with dried blood.
I sat up—
with unbearable difficulty.
My back…
my arms…
my head…
even my insides…
My body had become something broken beyond repair.
How would I survive this day?
Or rather…
when would it finally end?
The sound of footsteps approached the stable.
My heartbeat quickened instinctively.
Then the door opened slowly.
An irritating creak—
and behind it stood Aba Khalid.
He walked toward me with calm steps,
wearing the same cold expression.
No guilt for what he had done to a child last night.
No remorse.
No regret.
Only that icy calmness.
He unlocked the chain around my wrists.
The iron clinked as the shackles came free.
A small weight lifted from me—
but his hand suddenly seized my ankle violently, fastening a heavy iron restraint around it.
A long chain dragged behind me like a humiliating shadow.
How badly I wanted to kick him.
Truly.
But I knew well enough that if I did,
he would not hesitate to break my leg and let the horses trample me.
I stood, preparing myself to discover what kind of pain awaited me today.
A line of slaves stood assembled before the field.
And there he was—
that man.
That gray-haired elder who soothed my troubled heart.
He walked with slow, heavy steps burdened by pain,
and I quietly stood beside him.
Without resistance.
Without words.
Only exhaustion.
Cold sweat covered me,
and my insides ached.
I had no right to complain.
No one would care if I died anyway—
or so I believed.
No one spoke.
And who among us dared to?
A large hand rested atop my head.
I looked up and saw him.
He smiled gently at me, silently checking on me.
And I returned a tired smile.
Then a voice rang out.
Aba Khalid stood before us, the large slave beside him.
He looked over all of us.
His voice was loud, though he did not shout.
"Today you will transport goods into the center of Madinat al-Salam."
His gaze sharpened on me before sweeping across the others.
"And do not even think of running away. All of you are chained. Whoever flees will be punished severely. Understood?"
No one answered.
Perhaps we embodied the saying "silence means consent."
Not because we agreed—
but because fear was the last thing we still possessed.
Aba Khalid approached me with disdain in his eyes before tossing a piece of cloth at me.
"You will wear this. Do not argue."
I looked at him in confusion, then lowered my gaze to the worn brown fabric.
It was a hooded head covering.
I frowned.
Seriously? Wear this?
Then I noticed the others wearing them as well.
Clearly some kind of disguise…
I sighed in surrender.
I had no energy left to argue, especially after the whipping.
I already felt dizzy and nauseous.
So I wore it, covering only my head.
He pointed toward several carts loaded with goods.
"Push them into the city center. Move."
Then he mounted his horse while we were left to push those carts barefoot.
We had no other choice.
The large slave approached one of the lighter carts while the others took carts of varying weight.
I was left with the heaviest one.
Then a voice called softly:
"Boy, come here."
I turned toward the voice.
The old man was pulling a cart while smiling gently.
He released it for me.
"Let us switch. Take this one and give me the heavy cart."
I stared at him for a moment, making sure he truly meant it.
He was giving me the lighter cart while taking the heavier burden himself.
I did not understand him…
Why help me when helping me could harm him?
But he said nothing.
He simply helped me and began pushing the heavier cart while I pushed the other.
Even though it was the lightest one, it was still heavy.
…
Why did my stomach hurt this badly?
…
The ground burned beneath our bare feet.
Our bodies suffered in silence.
And our souls wept.
I pushed the cart while sweat poured down my skin.
Nausea twisted violently inside my stomach, and my vision slowly blurred.
Even the sounds of the market seemed distant—
as though water separated me from them.
What is happening to me?
The old man walked beside me and touched my arm.
He noticed the heat radiating from my skin and frowned briefly.
I looked at him.
He smiled calmly before whispering in a voice barely audible:
"I will help you escape. Be ready."
I looked at him in shock, but he immediately interrupted while glancing toward Aba Khalid riding ahead of us.
"Do not look at me."
I lowered my head quickly.
Help me escape?
The thought alone made me forget the pain and exhaustion consuming me.
We continued pushing the carts along the endless dusty roads.
Dirt clung to my face, and sweat rolled down my temples onto my salty lips.
Breathing became difficult.
And my stomach…
Curse my stomach.
It hurt as though something were devouring it from within.
But the thought of escape—
that tiny word the old man had whispered—
kept me from collapsing.
He moved slightly closer while pushing the heavy cart.
The sound of wooden wheels concealed his quiet whisper.
"Once we enter the market, stay behind me."
I listened silently, keeping my gaze lowered as instructed while he continued.
"Aba Khalid will be busy with his trade as usual, and the slaves will be occupied unloading the goods."
He glanced around to ensure no one was listening.
Meanwhile I coughed lightly, struggling to suppress the nausea rising into my throat.
"And me?"
I asked weakly.
A tired voice.
He replied while looking ahead.
"I will lead you to an alley behind the cloth market."
My breath caught.
An alley…
Away from Aba Khalid?
I pressed my lips together and kept walking with difficulty.
Fear never left me.
What if we failed?
I was already exhausted… what if he caught us?
What would happen then…?
Sensing my anxiety, he whispered:
"I know you will succeed. Just do not hesitate. And do not look back."
I lowered my gaze to the chains around my feet.
I could barely take a proper step, let alone run.
"What about the chains?"
He did not answer.
Instead, he slipped something metallic into my hand.
…A key.
"I stole it from him. Use it once we enter the alley."
My eyes widened as I clenched it tightly.
My heart slammed violently against my ribs.
I swallowed with difficulty.
This was real…
Terrifyingly real.
Then for the first time, he looked directly at me.
His gray eyes filled with concern when he saw the paleness of my face and the cold sweat covering my skin.
"Boy… are you alright?"
I wanted to say yes.
But suddenly my stomach twisted violently.
My steps faltered against my will.
My vision shook.
I covered my mouth quickly as my breathing accelerated.
I squeezed my eyes shut before reopening them weakly and continuing to push.
"Just a slight illness."
I lied.
It was not slight at all.
My stomach burned horribly.
But I tried desperately to ignore it.
We entered the market shortly before sunset.
The noise struck my head instantly.
The shouting of merchants.
The neighing of horses.
The scent of cloth, spices, sweat, and the scorching sun.
Everything spun around me slowly in an unbearable haze.
I tried to keep my steps steady while the chains scraped against stone with every movement.
I could hear them clearly—
a constant reminder that I was still owned.
At last Aba Khalid dismounted his horse.
As usual, he was furious, shouting at one of the men over a broken crate.
"Careful, you idiots! Do you think goods grow from dirt?!"
Everyone bowed quickly, apologizing, while the old man approached me without looking directly at me.
"Now."
He whispered it so softly I barely heard.
My heartbeat thundered violently.
The man pulled the hood lower over my head and guided me silently.
We slipped behind the carts and through crowds of people—
so many people that I felt suffocated.
I nearly stumbled twice because of the chains.
Then finally…
we entered a narrow alley far from the market.
The noise faded instantly.
Tall stone walls blocked the sunlight, and the air here was cooler though damp with the smell of stagnant water.
I stopped with difficulty while the old man quickly crouched beside me.
"The key."
My trembling hand pulled it from my fist while he inserted it into the lock.
His fingers shook as he worked.
Then came the sound of metal.
Click.
The first restraint opened.
Click.
The second followed.
I held my breath.
For the first time in so long, my feet felt light.
He raised his head and smiled before standing.
"Go. Run. And do not look back."
I nodded quietly—
but then everything shattered.
A furious shout echoed.
Curse it, my soul nearly left my body.
"Where is the boy?!"
More footsteps approached rapidly, pounding against the ground.
The old man grabbed my shoulders forcefully.
This time his eyes were filled with fear.
"Run!"
"But you—"
"Run, you fool?!"
He shoved me backward.
My exhausted body slammed against the wall—
but I ran.
I ran exactly as he ordered.
My body forgot its exhaustion as I sprinted toward the only place I knew.
Uncle Salih's home.
Every long stride carried a prayer that he was there.
Every drop of sweat running down my temple begged Aba Khalid not to catch me.
And finally—
that familiar door.
I pounded against it desperately while gasping for air.
Pain surged back through my body.
But this time, weakness accompanied it.
The door creaked open slowly.
And there he stood.
Uncle Salih.
The moment he saw me, shock overtook him.
My hair was shorter, my face pale and drenched in sweat, my clothes ragged.
"Eli—"
I cut him off quickly. There was no time for greetings.
"Uncle Salih, we must save the man who helped me escape from Aba Khalid!"
Confusion deepened across his face.
Rightfully so.
Why would I even be with Aba Khalid?
Who would imagine I had been sold as a slave?
Yet I grabbed him and pulled urgently.
"Please… come."
He frowned and followed me.
Not because he doubted me—
but because he wanted answers.
We rushed through the alleys while my heart pounded violently.
I feared we were already too late.
Behind us, the sounds of the market swallowed every passing second.
I heard him shout for someone else to follow us.
I did not care who.
The only thing occupying my thoughts was whether the old man was alive…
or at least still breathing.
I ran with Uncle Salih behind me, my lungs tearing from the effort.
The market had grown even more crowded than before.
People moved in every direction.
Voices blended together.
My head throbbed violently.
But the alley…
the alley was empty.
I stopped abruptly, staring around in horror.
No old man.
No Aba Khalid.
Only scattered footprints in the dirt—
and a small patch of blood near the wall.
My body froze.
"No…"
The word escaped weakly.
Uncle Salih approached the bloodstain and frowned cautiously.
"What happened here?"
I opened my mouth—
but another voice interrupted.
"You."
I turned sharply.
A young man stood near the alley entrance, perhaps in his twenties, dressed far cleaner than the other men.
His cold eyes narrowed toward me.
I recognized him instantly.
Khalid.
Aba Khalid's son.
My stomach twisted violently.
I stepped backward instinctively while he stared at me for a long moment.
Then a small cold smile spread across his face.
"If you are looking for my father, he is busy."
He stepped closer, his gaze shifting between me and Uncle Salih.
"Trade does not stop because of a runaway slave."
Uncle Salih frowned in clear irritation, still not fully understanding what was happening.
As for me…
I felt suffocated merely by seeing Khalid.
He resembled his father too much.
The same cruel eyes.
The same way of looking at people as if they were objects.
Khalid lazily gestured toward the back pathways of the market.
"If you wish to see the old man… go to the stable."
My breathing stopped.
The stable…?
But Khalid continued, this time staring directly at me.
"Assuming he can still speak."
All color drained from my face.
Uncle Salih quickly grabbed my shoulder.
"What is he talking about?"
But I could not answer.
I simply ran.
Ran toward the stable while the fear inside my chest became worse than the pain itself.
My steps stumbled.
Sharp stones cut into my feet.
But I felt nothing.
My mind clung desperately to one thought:
Please let him be alive.
The stable came into view.
At its entrance stood Aba Khalid.
Smiling.
Waiting for me.
He spoke in a voice more venomous than poison itself.
"Welcome back, runaway."
Then he lifted his gaze toward Uncle Salih standing behind me and smiled wider.
"You brought your friend too? …No matter. He is inside."
Uncle Salih reached toward me to stop me—
but I slipped away and pushed the stable door open.
…
I wish I had gone blind before seeing what awaited me.
I wish I had died instead.
I saw him.
Sitting on the ground…
and…
his head lying beside him.
Slaughtered like a sacrificial sheep on Eid night.
Separated from his body beneath a white cloth.
My breathing quickened violently.
My pupil shrank in terror.
Uncle Salih covered my eyes with his hand to shield me from the sight—
but it was too late.
I had already seen it.
The image carved itself into my memory forever.
A hand seized mine and pulled me away.
It was one of Uncle Salih's servants—
a boy around eighteen years old.
I could have turned back.
Could have seen more.
But I did not.
Just as instructed.
He dragged me through the center of the market toward his master's home.
He kept talking—
trying to distract me from what I had seen.
But what was the point…?
My stomach…
my head…
nausea…
double vision…
…
Dear reader… could you search these symptoms for me? Please? I feel like I am dying…
…
I coughed lightly and looked at my hand.
…Blood.
I no longer felt connected to myself.
As though I had separated from this world entirely.
I staggered—
then everything went black.
My body?…
I could not feel it anymore.
Only hear incomprehensible voices.
"Boy!"
What are they saying?
"Good God, take him to the physician!"
Are they even speaking Arabic?
"He has arsenic poisoning."
It did not matter.
I was finally feeling something I had lost long ago.
Relief.
Then a familiar voice.
My uncle's voice.
"Eliya…"
Soft…
barely audible—
yet the only thing I understood.
"Eliya!"
I opened my eyes with difficulty.
My vision was still blurred.
But I saw him holding me.
I could not make out his expression—
yet a bowl filled with a white liquid was pressed toward my lips.
I drank.
I was barely conscious.
I already felt as though I was dying.
But dear God…
the burning in my stomach became coolness.
That liquid soothed me.
So much that I weakly reached out, took the bowl myself, and drank every drop.
Though I barely understood what was happening.
I drank it all.
I had been thirsty and in agony—
and that drink eased me.
Uncle Salih held my hand and brushed my face gently.
I still could not see clearly,
but I recognized the fear on his face.
And then I slept.
I slept peacefully despite everything that had happened.
My body refused any further resistance.
…
I returned to awareness to the sound of a beautiful male voice.
A voice reciting the Qur'an.
I had not heard it recited in so long.
I opened my eyes slightly and saw a ceiling—
the same ceiling that sheltered me after I became orphaned.
The ceiling of Abu Jamil's house…
Uncle Salih's house.
I was too exhausted to move or even speak.
So I merely closed my eyes again.
I will never forget his sacrifice.
The man who gave his life to return me to Uncle Salih's warmth.
I will never forget that I was the reason he died.
Thank you…
Uncle Joseph.