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Out of Bed

The cautious seldom err. But then the cautions seldom do a lot of things.

“Wake up!” a familiar voice said. Something or someone was shaking him awake as he tried to sleep.

“Wake up!” the voice insisted.

Jafarr opened his eyes and blinked. The room was still dark. He could barely focus on the shadowy silhouette outlined by the blue light from his floor lights. He blinked again with a look up, still groggy. “What is it?”

“Get up, son. We’re leaving,” his father’s voice said. The silhouetted figure stood up, pulling the thin blanket off of the fifteen-year-old’s body. Yes, Jafarr was fifteen Parthan years that very day. He had technically turned it at one that morning, but all Jafarr really wanted to think about was sleep. It was two a.m.

“Get up, Jafarr. I’m not leaving without you,” his father said.

It was clear to Jafarr now that his father was not going to leave him alone. He only blearily hoped this was not a birthday prank.

Rolling off the bed, Jafarr rubbed his head. He stood up then sleepily opened his clothes drawer.

“Just throw something on, Jafarr. We have to hurry.” His father rushed out of the room.

Jafarr looked up. His mind cleared somewhat as he glanced around his room. “Dad! It is the middle of the night! What’s going on?”

Jamenth Zeldar ran back into the room with a knapsack where he started to stuff a few computer cards and personal things inside it from Jafarr’s room. Jafarr watched his father do this, still in a daze.

“Get dressed. Hurry!” his father urged.

Reaching over his shoulder, Jafarr grabbed the back to his pajama top and pulled it off, tossing it on his bed. Confused, but obediently, he pulled on a clean shirt and he changed his pants. His father rushed in and out of the room, checking on him as he hurried.

“Come on! Get your shoes on or they’ll leave us!” his father said, grabbing Jafarr’s shoes off of his chair and handing them to his son. Jafarr took them and put them on, but he eyed his dad like he had lost it.

“Who is going to leave us?” he asked.

“The others,” his father said hastily, handing Jafarr his jacket. “Here, you’ll need this. It is going to be cold.”

Jafarr stood up, grabbed his jacket, and followed his father as he marched into the kitchen. “Wait a second. Where are we going?”

His dad was stuffing mulch cakes into the sack now. He looked up. “Partha.”

Jafarr stopped. “What? Partha?” He glanced around the room, throwing up his hands. “It is the middle of the night!”

His dad closed his mouth and nodded. “I know.”

Jafarr nearly choked. “Hold it! I’m not going to Partha—especially in the middle of the night.”

Turning, Jamenth looked at his son hard. “I’m not leaving you here, and I’m going. The P.M.s will kill you sooner or later, and I’m not risking that.”

Standing back, Jafarr folded his arms. “So you are running like a coward.”

His father stopped and looked hard at him. A flash of anger crossed his face as his jaw clenched. Jafarr stepped back, unfolding his arms.

“No, Son. They found us. It will only be a matter of time before they trace me to you,” his father said. He then continued packing. “They have my prints. They have my blood.” Then he looked to his son again. “Jafarr, we had a weapons run tonight. I was shot.”

Going pale, Jafarr quickly looked down now to where his father had been gripping his arm. He had not noticed before then. Then he peered back up at his father’s earnest expression.

“I’ll be fine, but once they identify my blood it is over for you,” his father said. “I didn’t want you to have that kind of life, running from P.M.s.”

“What if I wanted that life?” Jafarr at last said.

His father closed his eyes.

“I know you do, son. I know you do.” Then he looked up at him. “I just can’t bear to lose you. You are the most precious thing to me. Ever since I lost your mother…. I just can’t bear to lose you too.”

Jafarr closed his mouth, his face softened, and he nodded. “Alright.”

Refugees

They

Impressum

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