The Refugee

I never expected it. I couldn’t figure out how we started talking. One moment, he was there, and I was there. Before that, I was walking alone. Now, I was talking to him.
He looked like the classic non-Turkish person you are likely to encounter in this country these days: skin tanned from the Middle Eastern sun, ragged clothes. A refugee, most likely Syrian. Except, there was something different with this man, something in his brightened face when he saw me, something in his smile. It was as if I was sent to him by God.
He asked me how he could get to Ankara, the capital city, about a day’s drive away from Istanbul. Somehow, I quickly became accustomed to his company, as if we’d met sometime before. He told me that he was a refugee from Gaza, who had flown to Istanbul, using the funds raised in Turkey. He told me about his son in a hospital, who was injured from the attacks down in Gaza, which was the main reason they had probably come to this country. He showed me his passport, weary and wrinkly, completed with a Palestinian flag. He talked of a bus company, of a bus ticket to Ankara, and stated he needed money. I promptly told him I couldn’t provide the money. The people on the streets were not angels, and neither was I obliged to give any money to them. Despite the fact that money ran the world, I didn’t want to discuss money with this man.
He had obviously suffered, but he had a strange aura of happiness and optimism about him. He smiled. He showed me how much he had sweated, since he had been walking for so long. He told me that “we are brothers”. I didn’t mention to him that I was agnostic and irreligious. The brotherhood was not religious, but humane this time. I imagined somehow fixing him his bus, and helping him through his journey. I knew I couldn’t, so I didn’t want to linger on for long. I lent him just enough money to enjoy a cheap meal, or buy a few bottles of water. I told him I couldn’t help him. I started walking and didn’t turn back. I wondered if he followed me. I wondered what he thought about me. I wondered what I thought of him. He was one of those people the world was talking about. Politicians, political commentators, they all spoke of this man’s life. He was human. He wanted his son to live. I walked on.

The London Dead Bus: A Short Story

It has been a long time since I last wrote about my experience running around London, and my weighing scale clearly shows it. It was unfortunate that on the day I felt inspired to run for hours on end, I was met with my greatest fear as a pedestrian in London.

I was following the path of Bus 13 south, towards St John's Wood station. It was customary for me to run on the right hand side of the road, as advised by my esteemed PE teacher, so that I was aware of the happenings on the road. However, there was this one unfortunate fool who did not know about my wise educator's methodology, and made the worst, and last mistake of his life, by running alongside the road / pavement boundary with his back towards the oncoming traffic.

The whole scene happened in the blink of my eye. I could see the man keeping a steady pace running towards me, and out of the corner of my eye, I could also see Bus 13 hurdling it's way on the bus lane. At the moment the front of the bus passed the runner, the man tripped and slipped towards his right, putting his head in the path of the red bus. With a sickening thud, I heard the man's neck snap as the bus's left side view mirror made contact.

I wondered why the runner's head was getting larger and larger even though his body remained motionless. And then it hit me. Literally. The force of the collision decapitated the man, and his head was the ball to the bus's mirror. In a matter of milliseconds, the runner's head transfered from his neck to my hands. I could feel the bile going up my throat and soon the countenance resting on my arms was covered with a thick layer of my breakfast.

This experience has definitely deterred my desire to continue running regularly. I still enjoy the wind blowing through my clothes, and the sun rays beating down on my ever increasing bald spot. However I decided to take another break from my passion until the tragedy escaped my memories.