In Heaven | Teen Ink

In Heaven

May 11, 2009
By Hilda Xhepa BRONZE, College Park, Maryland
Hilda Xhepa BRONZE, College Park, Maryland
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

The bleakly overcast room in the Cancer Ward is watched by a secret police guard day and night. Inside, floorboards creak when the slightest bit of pressure is put on them. They are turning gray from years of accumulated dust and neglectful cleaning by the hospital personnel. Follow these boards to where they meet the wall. There, a gray uneven line of molding wraps around the room. The gray paint on the walls is cracked with age. In the corner facing north hangs a curtain-less window, framed by rotting chestnut-colored wood. The upper left pane is chipped and a winter breeze chills the room. A nightstand rests in a nook with a single cup of water placed on it. An intravenous supporter neighbors the stand. Its bag is empty, and has been so for many days, intentionally disregarded. The tube connects to the frail arm of a languishing young woman. An outline of her weak body can barely be made out underneath the worn sheets of the hospital bed. Her striking auburn hair contrasts with her pale skin. Dark eyebrows arch over her large olive eyes, which are closed. Beneath defined cheekbones and an Illyrian nose (straight and slightly pointed at the end), are her dried, thin lips. Edon is holding a moistened napkin, wetting her lips. Just an hour before, he had finally gained permission to enter the room. Drita is in her final moments. He looks up at the window. It is snowing.

The snow was frantically falling over the crowded bus stop. People were pushing and shoving, trying to board the only bus to the labor camp. A young man accompanying a little girl had tightly clasped her hand and was tugging her through the mob. With great effort they climbed onto the bus, not expecting to find a seat. An old lady with a hooked nose was seated, her fat sagging on all sides. She saw the little girl and motioned her forward. Skipping toward the lady, followed by Edon, her two braids bobbed up and down and her dress flowed with her agile body as she moved. The little girl stared at the woman with a childish spark of curiosity in her olive eyes. The old lady took the girl onto her lap. “What is your name, sweet?”
“Drita,” she replied.
“Where are you going?” she asked as her eyebrows furrowed.
“I am going to see my father, in Burreli Camp.”
“Burreli concentration Camp?!” gasped the old woman. She threw Drita off of her lap and wiped her skirt as though it had been soiled. Drita plunged straight into Edon’s arms, frightened.
“Dearest Drita, she is not like us,” said Edon with a distant look in his eyes. The bus came to a halt.


Edon’s thoughts are interrupted by a slight murmuring noise. He dabs at Drita’s lips again. They part slightly as she shifts uncomfortably on the mattress. “Father, father…”
Barbed wire surrounded the concentration camp. A crow flew overhead. Within the area enclosed by the fencing were two guards standing before a wrought iron gate. They paid no attention to the young man waiting to be assisted. Not too far from this scene was a little girl, wrapped in a blue shawl, shivering. She overheard the guards speaking.
“Have you heard about the political prisoner that dropped dead while mining?”
“Serves him right,” stated the other guard, laughing.
Drita’s heart stopped. Tears rolled down her cheeks and froze on the way. “Should that be my father? Dear Lord! Not my father…”
On the other side of the gate, a man in tattered clothing stopped pushing the wagon filled with copper ore. He rushed toward the gate.
“Drita!”
She ran toward him. He had a rugged beard and a ripped coat. His hands, burned from mining copper, reached through the opening in the gate to embrace little Drita. The icy metal pressed against their coats and they both quivered. The guards eyed them maliciously; they did not stop them, but held a tight grip on their guns. With tears of joy, Drita whispered, “Thank you, Jesus.”


Edon is sitting beside Drita. He wets her lips one last time. As he does so, Drita’s eyes open, just slightly, but their color radiates like rays of the sun and a twinkle of other-worldly joy infuses them.
Edon was waiting outside the Upper School building. He had leaned against the crumbling brick wall, wondering why he was “urgently needed here”. A cold breeze whisked past Edon, making his hair stand on edge. A girl was running toward him from the main building. Suddenly Edon realized it was Monda, Drita’s best friend.
“Where is Drita?” he asked frantically.
“She has fainted! Come help!”
“Fainted! Why?”
“They did not let her take the qualifying senior Literature exam. The administrator said it was decided by the Revolutionary Directorate, for she is the ‘daughter of an anticommunist’.”
Edon almost spit with disgust. Drita had spent months studying for that final exam, so she may attend University for literature and eventually aspire to her dream of becoming a writer. He immediately stopped his train of thought—Drita was unconscious. He hurried behind Monda as she led him to a limp Drita on the hallway floor, her olive eyes had opened. Even as he lifted Drita and brought her home, Edon was filled with anger at the oppressive system.
***
The joy of Liberty fills the air. The Berlin wall has been torn down. A single autumn leaf falls from the lofty tree that stands above the bench on which Edon sits. He is holding a new paperback book, with pages yearning to be read, a story longing to be told. The front cover of the book is very simple: the title Drita and a photograph. Seeing the photograph of his young friend stings him with pain. “Drita,” his whispers, and thousands of thoughts pour into his mind. He practically holds her in his hands—her book—a best seller, but first and foremost, her diary.
Edon flips through the book. A strong gust of wind blows the pages between his fingers and it opens to page 233.

WINGS TIED
From all the angels in the clouds
One was trapped on earth,
Envied by mortals

Flawless beauty, ageless smarts
Degraded, wings tied.
On land residing
Trampled, forgotten
“Forbidden to spread its wings”…
“An angel, she was,” thinks Edon. She had blossomed into a writer, a poet, and yet— just as quickly—she had left. She left the world as an angel. Edon lifts his head and sees a young girl laughing and proudly carrying her schoolbooks, sharing joy with those around her. “Much like Drita…” he murmurs. But where was Drita? Edon can only hope she has gone up to heaven, where she can accomplish her broken dreams.



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This article has 35 comments.


umd2009 said...
on Nov. 26 2009 at 4:43 pm
It's clear to me that this writing was very well thought out and that you have a very good perception of the historical background of your story. When writers are knowledgeable they are able to present a real passion to what they are writing about. It was moving.

Julia said...
on Nov. 25 2009 at 10:03 pm
I cried…, so real. Hilda, never stop writing.

on Sep. 3 2009 at 6:39 pm
swimmergirl GOLD, Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio
16 articles 1 photo 14 comments
simply beautiful and heart-wrenching, near the end I was nearly in tears

Check out my work

Deadjokr said...
on Sep. 3 2009 at 6:37 pm
Deadjokr, Childress, Texas
0 articles 0 photos 9 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Never go to bed mad. Stay up and fight." Phyllis Diller

Very beautiful.

ROYALTY2390 said...
on Sep. 3 2009 at 3:26 pm
Absolutely rivetting. A child with literature after my own heart. Well written, I believe you have the potential to be a prolific writer with a little polishing you can definitely go places.

cpinkle said...
on Sep. 3 2009 at 12:25 pm
i liked it!

kiki101 said...
on Aug. 19 2009 at 3:12 am
moving, very moving, try to let it flow more though. your a good writer but dont let your knowledge get in the way of expressing raw feelings! good luck! -yoshima!

ccisme11 said...
on Aug. 15 2009 at 4:30 pm
Very nice story.

hannah32 said...
on Aug. 5 2009 at 5:49 am
i cried, really

RicheousR said...
on Jul. 26 2009 at 5:47 pm
Your imagination is above and beyond!

on Jul. 15 2009 at 12:33 pm
distant_dreamer GOLD, Belmont, New Hampshire
12 articles 6 photos 497 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Life's a climb, but the view is great!"

One word for this story Extravagant!! You are a natural!! Where do you get your ideas? Keep up the good work! <3

camaroona15 said...
on Jun. 15 2009 at 8:19 pm
lovely story! brought tears to my eyes

joey18 BRONZE said...
on Jun. 6 2009 at 10:14 pm
joey18 BRONZE, Laingsburg, Michigan
2 articles 0 photos 4 comments

Favorite Quote:
Reader, I married him.

hey

Your story was rated number forty four out of two hundred fifty in popularity

i think you should be number one.

jenny said...
on Jun. 6 2009 at 4:52 am
that was one of the most beautiful things I have read in a long time. don't ever stop writing!

Michele said...
on Jun. 6 2009 at 12:47 am
Very heartbreaking story. Superbly written. Keep writing Hilda!