The Boy from Aleppo Who Painted the War by Sumia Sukkar

because he remembers the dreams he had and he thought he was living them. Baba then bought me a dessert called sahlab and told me the story about him running away from school every week to eat this dessert and get away from the scary school he hated so much. He used to always get into trouble but he said it was worth it because that warm dessert made his insides happy.
    A knock on the door and a loud voice calling Khalid’s name disturbs my thoughts. He gets up and opens the door to one of our neighbours who’s holding a platter of fried dessert. I can faintly hear their conversation but I know it’s going to end up with Khalid going out. I wish he would stay at home for a bit longer. I like company.
    Khalid walks back in and puts the platter on the table. The honey glazing on top is melting and my mouth is watering for it. Why do the neighbours have food and we don’t?
    â€˜Want to walk down the streets with us?’ Khalid asks me. He never asks me to go out with him and his friends. I jump up and clap my hands and stand in front of the door ready to go. His friend laughs and we walk out. It is starting to get dark now and we walk past the cafés that used to be filled with men playing backgammon and drinking tea and are now half empty and some even closed. We pass by kids playing hopscotch and my heart feels heavy. I wish my neighbours would play with me. I feel sad when I hear kids playing outside and nobody rings on my door to call me out. That’s why I like Nabil, because he likes to play with me.
    The further down we walk, as they talk and I listen, the louder the sounds of people marching is getting. There is an echo of people chanting ‘Down with the regime’ and I can spot a flag being held up high. Is this the revolution that Yasmine has been telling me about, the one they went to? There is a strong smell of petrol coming out of Khalid’s friend’s mouth. I am not sure if I like him or not. I usually sense people’s auras but his is difficult to pinpoint. I don’t feel comfortable with that so I move away from him and stand by Khalid.
    Five minutes later it’s like we’ve entered a new world. There are buildings that are half-collapsed with rubble all around them. One of the buildings looks like a sleeping troll. The streets are packed with people chanting and holding flags. They look like a hungry army of ants going for attack. They also remind me of a scene from
Braveheart
. Many people are greeting Khalid and his friend. They seem to be well known here. Khalid is walking differently to how he does at home. His chest is pushed out and one of his eyebrows is raised. He looks serious. I didn’t know people change in different places.
    I jump on Khalid’s shoulders to see things from above but I think I am too heavy because he is breathing loudly. There is a rectangular box with the Syrian flag and flowers on top of it. I think it is a dead body. I feel sick. I hit Khalid on his shoulders and shout to be put down. He puts me down quickly and asks me what’s wrong but I just run to a pavement and vomit. I do it for two minutes and four seconds. All the violet in me is on the floor now. The pavement around me is violet. I look up and Khalid is violet too.
    *
    I wake up to Yasmine moving my hair out of my face. My hair has grown below my ears. I need a haircut. I don’t remember going to bed. The last thing I remember is the overwhelming sensation I got at the revolution. I sit up and look around and find three bags on the floor with clothes in them.
    â€˜Yasmine, are you going somewhere?’
    She smiles and continues to play with my hair.
    â€˜We are going away for a few days to the beach, would you like that?’
    â€˜Yes! Yes! Yes!… Yasmine I saw a house… a house that is half gone and there were two kids looking out of the window. The half of the house had bullets all around it with the shape of a UFO. I had a dream that a