The earth is filled with blood... devastation has become the face of the earth, and the world is in chaos. People are scared, and screams rise everywhere, mixed with the moans of the wounded and the sound of feet running, searching for refuge. Bodies are piled up, and the air is heavy with the scent of death, even the power that once controlled the world has surrendered to its fate... That was all he told me... about those dreams. That image was always shrouded in fog, what happened? Is this the end? The only thing I saw clearly was something resembling a clock, hanging in place as if it were a dream. The sand inside it emitted faint whispers as it neared running out, then it would twist and return again to the beginning, as if it were a nightmare that would never end...

  Khalil Ibrahim, six years old, rises in the dead of night, his disturbed breath audible, and tears silently falling from his eyes. His wide eyes carry deep terror, his trembling lips make no sound, and his arms stretch out into the air as if trying to grab something invisible. The bandages around them make a faint rubbing sound with his movement.

  His mother was sleeping at the edge of the bed, her face calm despite the exhaustion, but the fine lines around her eyes revealed her suffering. Her steady breaths are heard amidst the stillness, and her arms are wrapped around herself as if searching for a lost warmth. Her son looks at her with sadness, seeing her suffering in taking care of him despite her constant smile in front of him, so he wouldn't feel sorrow. She hid her pain, while he was lost in his thoughts, hearing the sound of the wind sneaking through the window.

  "Why do those around me have to suffer? Isn't my suffering enough on its own?"

  He looked at the window, where the moon was at its fullest, taking its place in the sky amidst the silence of the night, while the stars around it adorned the sky. The moonlight reflected on his wide eyes filled with pain, while his fingers trembled slightly above the bedcover.

  He remembered when his mother used to smile at him and say, in her weary but warm voice, her eyes shining under the faint light of the lamp:

  "Do you know what your father always says to me when crises become severe, and hope seems to fade?"

  He asked her quietly, watching her trembling smile: "What does he say, mom?"

  She answered, her smile almost hiding her exhaustion, but her eyes held a gleam of warm memories: "Ya Amna, rest assured, for with hardship comes ease."

  When she said that, he felt that all the sorrow in the world would soon go away. He even became comforted by those words whenever he remembered them, and slowly closed his eyes, letting his tired body sink into sleep.

  He returned to sleep, while his breath calmed, as if these words had extinguished all the pain within him, and only the sound of the wind remained in the room, whispering slowly, as if the night carried a hidden promise.

  The darkness of the night dissipated along with its burdens, and at the break of dawn, a warm voice snuck through the silence.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  His mother said softly, placing her hand gently on his head, as the faint rays of the sun reflected on her weary features:

  "Wake up, the morning has come. Come on, I brought you your food and medicine."

  That voice represented safety for Khalil Ibrahim... his mother's voice. A voice that made him feel everything would be alright, even if the reality was harsh. Then, she added playfully, as she opened the curtains to let the morning light fill the room, feeling the cold air creep into her hands:

  "Come on, lazy one, did you sleep well last night?"

  A cold breeze blew through the window, mingling with the warmth of the sunlight, moving her hair gently, as if the morning carried a touch of hope despite everything. Khalil slowly opened his eyes, but the shine in them, which once sparkled with life, began to fade gradually, as if the illness was stealing away his brilliance day by day.

  Nightmares that never left him, and pain gnawing at his body, but still, he forced a faint smile on his lips, trying not to burden his mother more than he already had.

  "Good morning, Mom..."

  He hadn't finished his words before a harsh cough overtook him, exhausting his chest.

  His mother watched him silently. She knew he was trying to hide his pain from her, but she couldn't stop her eyes from showing the growing concern in her heart. Still, she smiled gently, trying to reassure him as she always did, although her smile wavered for a moment.

  At that moment, his father entered the room, trying to hide his sorrow behind a weak smile, but he couldn't stop his gaze from lingering on Khalil's trembling hands.

  "Good morning, both of you."

  He said that, but his tone couldn't hide the deep sadness eating away at him. Every day he saw him lying in bed, his sense of helplessness grew. There was nothing he could do except smile and create an atmosphere of hope, even though inside he felt he was about to break.

  "Good morning, Dad..." Khalil said weakly, then followed with another, sharper cough.

  "How are you?"

  His father slowly approached him, then sat beside him and patted his head, but his hand stopped for a moment as if it had felt his high fever, then he said with a warm smile hiding his concern:

  "I'm fine, as long as my little lion is fine."

  Then he frowned a little, took a deep breath as if choosing his words, and then added in a soft voice, as if whispering a secret:

  "But it seems you're monopolizing your mother's attention. You need to get better quickly so she can pay attention to us too."

  His mother laughed softly and shook her head, trying to hide the tear that began to gather in her eyes:

  "Stop it, dear. I care about both of you equally, but Khalil needs me more right now."

  His father placed his hand on his chin as if thinking of a great solution, then after a moment, he struck his fist with his palm, saying with fake enthusiasm:

  "Hmmm, it seems I'm sick too! Is there anyone to take care of me?"

  He then lay down beside Khalil, pretending to be ill, sighing as if suffering greatly. His wife gave him a disapproving look, while Khalil couldn’t hold himself and burst out laughing, even though he felt a sharp pang of pain in his chest from laughing.

  His mother laughed too, shaking her head, saying:

  "Stop it, let Khalil rest."

  His father turned back to his son and whispered playfully in a low voice, as if it were a secret between them:

  "See? You're her favorite. She only wants to take care of you!"

  Khalil looked at him, then laughed again, a pure laugh that filled the room, followed by his parents, as if laughter was their only escape from reality, even if just for a moment.

  But amidst all this, a small white bird caught his attention as it landed on his window. He stared at it silently, contemplating its sweet cooing in this calm morning.

  Despite everything he had been through, despite the laughter that filled the room, there was something inside him that hadn't changed.

  He looked at the bird with tired eyes, not just from illness, but from constant thinking. His eyes held a question, deep in confusion:

  "Is this happiness? Can I understand it one day?"

  That bird...

  How lucky it was.

  It could fly freely in the sky, see the world from above, feel the winds carry it without restraints.

  As for him...

  He was trapped inside a weak body, seeing life through a narrow window, wishing he could fly, even for just one moment.

  He saw his parents looking at him as he stared at the bird, and they understood what was going on in his mind. His mother looked at his frail hands, as if imagining wings bound, then she raised her head slightly and held her breath for a moment, trying not to break down in front of him.

  As for his father, he clenched his hands tightly, but said nothing. He just remained silent, watching quietly, trying to hide the sadness that had begun to cover his features...

  "To be continued, this chapter is not finished yet and is currently being written."..