The border

It’s going to be the end of something – leaving most everything behind – having had no time to pack much except for whatever little money I had, some clothes and my naked life – having been woken by the knock on my door at 3 a.m. – Ashraf whispering that I’d been uncovered, all the unpatriotic, antireligious, blasphemous things I’d been saying on my blog – he’d overheard some officers talking about it – knew it had to be me – knew I’d be picked up, shoved in the slammer, beaten up, sentenced according to whatever ancient law –  he had his Nissan pickup waiting outside, was going to take me to Chalmand, from where I could get a bus – it was unlikely that they were on the lookout for me yet, but I’d have to get off before the border – he had an address written down of a man who’d take me across, through the high mountains –  but then I’d have to look out for myself  – surely I had friends over there I could stay with for a while until – but the main thing was to get me out, across the border

– James Steerforth (© 2011)

Posted as a contribution for One Single Impression and ‘border’.