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The Prettiest Girl In The World |
| Written by JS Brown | |
| Tuesday, 15 April 2008 | |
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Share it:      Their family had been too poor for a television, but Shamallah had never minded a bit. Television made people stupid, in her opinion, and there were enough stupid people in the world already. She was only seventeen, but already had a wisdom that cut through the lies and pomp that most people deluded themselves with. Today she felt very nervous, but today was also the most important day of her short life, so that was to be expected. This meeting was very important. So important that she had come here two hours early, setting her bags down at her feet as she sat outside to wait for the lunch-time meeting. The smell of automobile exhaust was cloying, there were not many vehicles where she came from. She briefly wondered how the birds managed to stay in the sky as they flew through the smog over the city. At why they chirped in happiness while in the middle of the stink of this place. How she longed for the small village that she had left only yesterday. She also wondered about the family that she would never be able to see again. Her father, mother, and sister were still in her village, waiting on word that she had done the duty that had been thrust upon her. She turned her mind away from the painful thoughts, the memories that were all she had outside of the two shopping bags at her feet. A shadow fell across Shamallah, and she looked up into the smiling face of a boy that was roughly her age. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked into his eyes, not the typical brown of her people, but crystal blue, and sparkling with laughter as he looked down at her. He motioned to the steps she was sitting on, alone. "Is this seat taken?" he asked pleasantly. Shamallah shook her head no, gathering up her bags more closely to her feet, as though to make room for him. He dropped down beside her with a smile. "I am called Ahkmed." he said, still looking at her with a smile. "What's your name?" "Shamallah." she replied softly, almost embarrassed by his attention. "I have been watching you from across the plaza." he informed her, settling back comfortably on the stone steps. "I found myself dying to speak to you." "Why is that?" Shamallah inquired. "Because you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. The prettiest girl in the world, I think. I would cry myself to sleep tonight if I had not talked to you, just once." Shamallah found herself blushing over the comments. No boy so handsome had ever shown her such attentions, and she was unsure of how to react. In the village that she was raised in, women were still required to wear the burqua, the veil, and she was still not used to showing her face, much less used to being seen. This boy made her feel as embarrassed as a child when he smiled at her. "I... Thank you." she replied, unable to look him in the eyes. "No, it is I who should be thanking you for talking to someone so ordinary as myself." he said with sincerity, his eyes seeking hers. She felt his stare, but continued to look down at her feet, not wanting to make eye contact with the handsome boy. "So why are you just sitting here, may I ask?" he continued. "I'm here to meet someone." she replied without elaboration. "They must be a very lucky person, to have the prettiest girl in the world sit here and wait for so long on them like you are." She was at a loss for words as to how to explain it to him, even though she had no obligation to. But he was so handsome, and smelled of cologne, wearing nice clothes. And he seemed so genuinely interested in her, it was hard to not tell him something. "I... I am going to spend the rest of my life with them." she said, turning to him finally. "I am...indentured." The boy's smile faded as he looked into her eyes, and saw the seriousness there. "There is no room for such things in the world anymore. Those are archaic notions of old men in tents, in the desert with herds of camels at their beck and call. Surely you would not give yourself over to such ideas? Such slavery?" "I only do what I must." she said, not able to hold his beautiful blue eyes any longer and returning her attention to her feet. "You have to do no such thing!" he exclaimed, loudly enough for people passing by to turn and look at them. "I will take you away, so that you will simply vanish and they cannot find you. We will live a happy life together, maybe in London, or Paris. Do not give yourself over to slavery." "Why would you do such a thing for someone that you do not know?" she asked, looking up at him with tears welling up in her eyes. "You cannot mean that." "Why? You ask me why?" he said, leaning forward and boldly taking her hands in his own, right here, in public. She was amazed. "I would do these things for you because my family is very rich from the oil, and because you are the prettiest girl in the world." "Stop saying that!" she cried to him, and he saw that she had tears streaming down her face now, and she was sobbing. "I cannot! No matter how tempted I might be, I cannot." She hid her face in her hands, trying to stop the tears. "Please, thank you for your kindness, but you must leave me now. It is almost time for my meeting, and I would not have you see it." "You are sure." he stated flatly. "I meant every word of what I said to you, we can leave right now, together." He stared at her with intensity. Shamallah, hardly believing her own bravery, stood up and kissed the boy on the cheek, right here in the bazaar in front of everyone. She stepped back from him, blushing, and composed herself. She had even stopped crying. "Were I to live a thousand years, Ahkmed, I would never go one day without thinking of your face, and your kindness. But I cannot do what you ask of me. Please, I implore you! You must leave at once. I can talk to you no more." "Then I shall go as you ask." he said, "But if you cannot speak, then you may still listen." He took a knee before her, looking her deeply in her eyes. "I, too, shall see your face every night in dreams, and I shall feel your lips on my cheek, and feel your breath on my face as I do now. Know that I am honored that you would consider my offer, for even a second. Know that you are the prettiest girl in the world, if only to me." He stood up, continuing to stare down at her for a second, then gave a sigh and walked away. Shamallah watched him go, her emotions raging against her decision, but she sat firm as he walked out into the street, a bus bearing down on him. She started to shout out to him, but he skipped across the road just in the nick of time, and was gone. One last tear rolled down her face, and she turned her attention back to the road, waiting on her meeting. Ahkmed stopped on the far side of the road, shaking his head. She was SO beautiful and she had been sold, like a ******* cow or a goat. He, who had been raised in the city and knew better, had stepped out in front of a bus with her face in his mind's eye. The bus had missed him by inches, and he hardly cared. He stopped, playing the conversation back in his mind, seeing the perfect features of her face, the creamy smooth skin, the big, innocent, brown eyes. Then he turned around, and began walking back. Shamallah tensed as a limo, escorted by jeeps full of armed men, pulled up in front of the building. Here was the man that she was to instructed to meet. The soldiers secured the immediate area around the limo, hardly glancing at the pretty girl with the shopping bags, then opened the door. She stood, gathering her bags up as the man stepped out of the limo, tugging down the front of his suit over his girth as he did. He was looking hungrily at the restaurant they were outside of, and not at Shamallah. She closed her eyes for a moment, then began walking over to him. Ahkmed saw the soldiers pour out of the jeeps, and saw Shamallah get to her feet and gather her things. He took off running, hoping against hope that he could reach her, and kiss her, and maybe think of something perfect to say that might change her mind before it was too late. The soldiers saw him break into a run, and threw up their machine guns, bearing down on him with intent. Shamallah heard a cry, and saw Ahkmed running back, yelling. Her heart gave a pang of misery, and then she saw the soldiers throw up their guns and aim at the only person outside of her beloved family that had ever been nice to her, and she was horrified. Even though she was ten meters away from her meeting, she reached into the shopping bag she had with her, and pulled the string on the bomb she had been given. Ahkmed saw her reach into her bag and vanish, and then there was a clap that felt like every inch of his body was hit with a hammer. He flew back through the air, watching as if in slow motion as the limo lift off the ground and sail into the building on the other side of the street. Then he hit the street, and tumbled hard. He was knocked unconscious. He woke up hours later in the hospital, only to find that he was the only survivor out of fifteen people that had been in the blast vicinity. Moments after the detonation, a man ran through the door of a farming hut in northern Iran, whispering of the successful assasination to the leader of the resistance forces that held a family at gunpoint. The leader listened emotionless as he heard the report, looking into the eyes of Shamallah's mother, father, and younger sister. When the man was done making his report, he stepped back and fell quiet. The leader nodded once, then motioned to the rest of the squad, who lowered their weapons and made their way out the door. The mother began to wail with grief, knowing what it meant, knowing that her beloved Shamallah was dead, had killed herself so that they wouldn't get shot. The leader paused in the doorway, looking at the tearful father without emotion. "Your daughter gave her life to save yours. She must have loved you very much." "Just take your child-killing self away from what is left of my family." said the father, choking up around the words. "Allah will see to you." "Allah watches my every move." said the resistance leader with the surety that only the damned can have, and then he was gone. Copyright 2008 JS Brown |
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