Refugee Story Fiction

On World Refugee Day, I would like to share one short story from my trilogy, "Flies." It was published at Pocket Samovar in 2020. It's a story of two immigrant girls separated from their mother in El Paso, Texas.

Credit by @Ameentoon (IG)

FLIES

I don't like this romantic false idea that suffering purifies you, that it makes you a noble person. It does not! It makes you do anything to survive.
Slavoj Žižek, "Refugees, Terror and other Troubles with the Neighbors"

… The lifespan of a fly is quite short. The average housefly's lifespan is about three months. Because flies have so many predators, like humans, their average lifespan is reduced. But just because their lifespan is short, that doesn't mean their population is at risk. A female fly can lay up to 900 eggs in her lifetime [1].

I always feel this stench of an unwashed body. The sickening smell of sweat and sewage clogs your nostrils. You get used to it. You get used to everything. At least you're not alone here. There is a 3-year-old boy. They brought him from El Paso yesterday. He is still calling his mother. He hopes his mother will come for him. I don't hope. I am 12 years old. I am an adult.

When I feel completely sick, I raise my head and look at the ceiling. Large blade fans that slowly wave their wings as if they want to fly away from here. They buzz all day and all night. And their humming calms me. And I'm not alone. I have already made friends with other girls. We try to take care of the kids. Who wouldn't do it, if not us?

Others come only in the morning and in the evening. They bring food: soda, cookies, and oatmeal. I hate the taste of Coca-Cola in my mouth! Each time I get sick of this cookie, but there is nothing more. I try to swallow without chewing, squinting as if I'm drinking a bitter medicine over and over again.

Teresa, my little sister, often cries. She is still a baby; she will be 2 years old tomorrow. She always asks about mom. And I tell her: mom is working, but when she is free, she will come and take us. Then Theresa asks me to sing our favorite song. I pick her up and quietly sing in her ear:

We are mother's little birds
We learn to fly
Blue sky above us
And God's grace.
We open wings
Fly over the rainbow
And we meet mom
And we tell her
We are your little birds.

Then Teresa begins to laugh, and I cry. But every time, I cry less and less.

[1] “Flies life circle”, Ehrlich, accessed September 15, 2019, https://www.jcehrlich.com/flies/fly-life-cycle/