Blog 4- Breadwinner post

In this post I'm to tell a short story as if I was an Afghan living in the street of Kabul, and I was the only person in my family who could provide money and goods for my family.

July 14th 1996
Today in the market I saw something so terrible. I was selling my cigarettes to the people in the slums of Kabul as I do every day, when I saw a Taliban member come into the area. I hid behind a crumbling building so he couldn't see me.
I wasn't supposed to be down here, I knew, the Taliban didn't want us to sell things to the extremely poor, for reasons I didn't know. But as I peeked out from behind the building I saw him yell out a few names. He sounded mad, and if there was one thing I have learned in my lifetime about the Taliban, it was to never, ever, make them mad.
I'd heard stories of how they just killed random people, and things they had done to people that are a billion times worth then death. But when I saw a man stand up with a women covered in a burqa who was carrying a little baby stand up and walk towards the man I almost yelled for them to stop and run away. I covered my mouth because I know he would kill me if he saw me too, so I stayed quiet.
Right when the family finished making there way towards the man, I saw the Taliban take out a gun, and in one swift motion, shoot the baby. I knew it was the baby and not the women because of the pool of red liquid covered the baby in only seconds.
As the women began to cry in her husbands arms I looked into the killers eyes and saw something that surprised.
It surprised me a lot.
In the killers eyes, there wasn't the evil I suspected I would see, but I saw regret, and even some fear. Then, as I looked at him some more, I realized that he was only around eighteen, which is only four years older than me.
Next, he didn't kill the two people as I thought he would, but he instead just ran away. I watched as he became smaller and smaller until I could barely see him. I then quickly exited the slums and returned to the small room that has become my home. Inside, my mother and two older sisters greet me, but I quickly go to the other room and cry. And I keep on crying for hours until I finally build up the courage to think about it all again and write it down.

Osama