• Violet/Zyads story.
    I spent the first eight years of my life with parents. We were so happy, my parents, my little brother, Zyad and I. To this day I’m not entirely sure what had happened that night. Not quite sure how my hands managed to get a knife in them, not quite sure how I managed... Never mind you don’t need to hear the gory details. I notice most of you are looking at me in shock; I believe I may have sent the wrong message, I’ll start from the beginning maybe then you’ll understand.
    “Mum, Zyads hungry!” I yelled as I searched the cupboards. “Where’d you put the baby food this time?” I screamed down the hallway. I was eight then, I was innocent, I was just a little girl. My parents weren’t very attentive, so I was usually the one who fed and played with my little brother, Zyad. However my Mum had to change him, I wasn’t high enough to reach the change board and that was the one thing my Mother insisted on. She said it was easier for her but I knew she just didn’t want him to mess up her varnished floors.
    “In the fridge!” She screamed back. I rolled my eyes, it wasn’t in the fridge, I had just found it shoved into the back of the cupboard. No doubt my mother had bragged that Zyad was eating real food. I shook my head, grabbed a bottle and walked back into the lounge room. Zyad was sitting on his blanket, his chin quivering as he waited for me to come back. Then he saw me and his face broke into a grin. “Hey, baby bro.” I cried dancing over to him. He laughed and clapped his hands as I showed him the blueberry baby food. I started to help him eat it, he still wasn’t quite sure where his mouth was but other than that my 9 month old brother could still eat it.
    That’s the last normal thing I ever did. The last innocent thing I ever did. When my soul wasn’t torn and my hands weren’t covered with blood. I cherish that memory with all my heart. The innocence and content atmosphere I haven’t felt since then. Several moments later as I wiped away the baby food on Zyads chin the door swung open, slamming on its hinges. I jumped and immediately knew something was wrong. Hurriedly I picked up Zyad hugging him close I ran into another room. I set him down and locked the second door before running to the main door and sticking my head out. Two men were standing in the lounge room; one of them looked frightened, as though he’d been bullied into it. The other one looked directly at me; his eyes were crazy and scared the s**t out of me. I quickly retreated into the room, pulling the door shut hurriedly and just managing to get it locked before I felt someone tug on the other side.

    “Come on girly. We won’t hurt you.” I heard him say, his voice mocking. I picked up Zyad and hurried to the other door. I pulled it open... and froze. My parents were coming out to see what all the noise was about. I quickly shut the door again, knowing what was about to happen and knowing I had no way to help them I decided to put all my strength into protecting my baby brother. I picked up some of the baby blankets in the room and curled into the corner, covering Zyad and myself as best I could. Covering Zyads ears I blocked out the sounds coming from the lounge room, I attempted to do the same to myself but failed as three shots were fired. I heard the screams of my parents and pressed harder over Zyads ears as tears streamed down my cheeks. I don’t think he understood what was going on but he understood that I was upset so he began to wail. The door smashed down and I knew Zyads wailing gave away our position so I pulled the blankets off of us.

    “There you are girly!” The mean man said. I wrapped my arms around Zyad and turned my body so he was out of the men point of view.
    “Oh look how good she is trying to protect her little brother!” I heard the laugh in his voice again but I had looked away. His smile made my courage falter and I didn’t need that right now. Suddenly I felt a hand on my chest and with a shove I was sprawled on the ground hugging Zyad as close to me as he could possibly get without getting hurt. I kicked at the man; the timid one was standing in the corner of the room, as he tried to get on top of me. I still don’t remember how I got a knife in my hand but a few seconds later I was holding the hilt of it as warm blood rushed over my hand. I had stabbed the man in the stomach, I looked at my hands expecting to feel frightened, but it was like I existed outside of my body. I felt nothing, I was only a spectator. I pulled the knife out of the man’s stomach and turned on the man in the corner.
    “No, please!” He cried as I brought up the knife.
    “He dragged me along, told me he’d beat me if he didn’t! And he has before! Please, please!” My resolve faltered, I knew this man was telling the truth, he had just burst into tears. I lowered the knife and pointed to the door.
    “Get out.” I growled, the man bolted out the house. I haven’t seen him since.

    After that I lived on the streets with Zyad. Over the years I met up with others, some run away others orphans, like me. We created a group, a family not by blood but by trust. Everything changed when I was fourteen but I think you should listen to my families stories before we continue with that.