The Boy from Aleppo Who Painted the War Read Free

tired and upset. Maybe it’s because they miss mama. It can’t be because of the war. A war is a state of armed conflict between different nations or states or different groups within a nation or state. There is no conflict in Syria for there to be a war. The dictionary doesn’t lie, so if that’s what it says, that’s what I believe.
    The day is going by slowly. I finish breakfast and leave the sitting room. It is too boring to sit around, watch the news and listen to the family talk about politics. I walk to my room and think about what book to read today. I have just borrowed
Death in Venice
by Thomas Mann from the library. I think I will start reading it.
    The main character’s name looks grey, which means I won’t like him. Gustave Aschenbach is a very dark name; he must be bad. I don’t want to finish the book in case it upsets me. Thinking about it forms hexagons in my mind with bees roaming around the shape, stinging. He certainly is a bad character then. Just the thought of reading on scares me.
    The dark image I have in my head from just the first page of the book makes me want to paint. I walk over to the corner of my room and open all the lids of the colours on the table as I sit up on the chair. My paintbrush darts for the grey colour. I have a better idea though. I pick up the bottle of grey paint and splash it on the white paper. The paint runs down and before it dries I dip my paintbrush in orange. I draw a thin outline of tired looking eyes that reflects a flame in the pupils. I draw as delicately as possible so the details are fine and noticeable. I pick up a thinner brush and dip it into a midnight blue colour and trace a fine line around the pupils so the orange and blue simultaneously show the fear in the eyes. The grey in the background has mixed with orange and dried now. All together it looks like the aftermath of a war.
    I move my chair back to see the picture from afar. I feel it reach out to talk to me, telling me something is missing. I re-evaluate the three colours. The unexpected clash of grey and orange shows the dark results of the war but also reflects a thin glimmer of hope. The midnight blue around the pupils speaks to me and tells me of the horrors it has witnessed. A lighter colour is missing: white. The sky should be painted white to mock the supposed ending of the war and show the naivety that still remains.
    I pick up my white paint and carefully spill it at the top of the canvas. I put a piece of paper under it so there is a perfect line and so it doesn’t interfere with the other colours. I then wait five minutes for it to dry before removing the paper.
    I can hear weird sounds coming from outside all of a sudden. They sound like the howls of angry wolves. I never knew we had wolves in Aleppo. It is exciting to hear them but I am scared. Why would wolves be howling like this? I run out of my room quickly and look for Yasmine.
    â€˜Yasmine! I can hear wolves! Yasmine!’
    â€˜Come in Adam, what’s wrong Habibi?’
    â€˜Yasmine, can you hear the wolves outside? Come, I’ll show you!’
    I lead Yasmine to the front of the house and keep my eyes on her face. Her eyes look so small. I think she is scared. I have never seen her eyes this small apart from at mama’s funeral. She must be scared or upset, but why should she be upset because of the wolves?
    â€˜Yasmine what’s wrong?’
    â€˜The protests have started darling, they’re coming down our street.’
    â€˜Is this what you meant by the start of the war?’
    â€˜Yes, the boys and I have to join the crowd Adam, you stay home with Isa.’
    â€˜I thought you were going tomorrow? You can’t go today, it’s not time yet.’
    â€˜I thought we would be going tomorrow too but I have to go today.’
    Yasmine runs to the sitting room and calls out to Khalid and Tariq to get dressed and ready. I don’t feel too good, maybe it’s