My Name is Sulayman, a misc. books fanfic

This is a new one. I know the The Breadwinner is technichally a book, but this fanfiction takes place where the movie left off. It's too bad The Breadwinner doesn't have its own category in the book section or the movie section.

I didn't intend to have this fic published on 9/11, it was pure coincidence. Besides, twenty years have passed since that happened. I don't remember 9/11 at all, I was very young. I must've been five at the time. But still, this day marked a monumental moment in human history.

Anyways, this is my go at what things are like from Sulayman's point of view. It was what I planned on writing since the beginning.

Okay, now that I've gotten that out of the way, let's get on with the story.

My name is Sulayman. My mother is a writer, my father is a teacher, and my sisters always fight each other. One day I found a toy on the street—I picked it up it exploded. I don't remember what happened after that, because it was the end.

I watched over my family from Heaven. I've seen everything happen. I've seen my family struggle to get by. I've seen my mother provide for my sisters and little brother. I've seen my father struggle with his missing leg. I've seen people harm each other. I've seen it all.

My father told me and my sisters that things were different when he was a child. That there was a time when everyone was happy and laughed and danced. A time when there were was peace and harmony. He said at that time people looked out for each other, women didn't have to wear burkas. I try to image what that must've been like, but it's almost like a myth to me. A distant, distant past.

What happened to us? For as long as I can remember, our people had always been militant. While life for me was hard, I treasured the moments between me and my little sister Parvana and my mother. My sister Soraya, always trying to be the perfect lady. My father with his stories to share. Those were the things I treasured. It's really a tragedy that I died before Zaki was born. He would've loved meeting me, and I would've loved taking care of him.

Then came the day my father was wrongfully arresting. My mother was scared, Zaki was crying, Parvana, in her anger, wished to stop them. After he was taken away, life for them was harder.

Parvana cut off her hair and Mama-jan gave her my clothes. She looked almost like me, but her green-blue eyes made her stand out. (A rarity in our country). I saw her meet her old friend Shauzia. I remember her, she used to go to the same school as Parvana. She was also passing herself off as a boy, and called herself Deliwar. Parvana took to calling herself Aatish. They worked together and helped each other. Parvana earned money to buy food, and even took some candy from the factory she snuck in.

When things got hard, Parvana told Zaki the story of the Elephant King. I enjoyed listening to it, and Zaki liked it.

I watched over father while he was in prison. I was worried about him. I was scared for him, and the other prisoners. I was worried for the older ones, how the were scared of dying. I could see that they didn't agree with what our government handled things. This way of life, it changed us. We became so cold, so cruel, unfeeling. Empathy left us. People treat each other like garbage. The Taliban is like a virus, and like a virus it infected us. Turning everyone more destructive, sought conquest, felt superior as if all the other people in the world were just mindless insects.

Then came the day Mama-jan had arranged a marriage for Soraya. It was all to get them to a safer place. Parvana was against it, and I understood that Mama-jan wanted to stop my sister from going out. She was going to get found out sooner or later. And she did. That boy chased her and Shauzia into a hole in the cliff. During those times I wished with all my might to be alive again so I could defend you and Mama-jan and my sister and Zaki. I even could've helped father.

On the day Parava went to the prison I watched with burning interest. She called out to a man to let her inside. Then that man appeared, Razaq, the man who didn't know how to read. She taught him to read and write, and he in turn was grateful by helping her get to father. I watched her wait outside the gates while he searched the prison for our father. I saw the chaos unfold in the prison; guards scrambling to get the weak ones out and leading them outside to shoot them. Outside, my sister hid behind the wall and covered her ears. She kept telling the story of the Elephant King to distract herself.

While my sister was waiting, I saw my mother confront the cousin who wanted to take her, Soraya and Zaki to safety. After getting the car fixed, he was ready to take her away, and I was scared for them. Mama-jan told Soraya to take Zaki and run. They ran while she stayed with the cousin. I had never met him before my death, but there was hate in his eyes. And I hated him. Mama-jan grabbed the knife, and egged him to stab her. He stood looking at her and at the knife, blood pouring in a stream. My mother was a woman so bold it made mountains shake. The cousin left them, and Mama-jan bandaged her wound and walked.

I watched Parvana wait by the door, scared. I saw Razaq and he had Baba. He was carrying him over his shoulders, and he was walking toward the gate. Another man stopped him, holding a gun at him. He wanted Razaq to stop. Razaq tried reasoning with him. The man shot him, but Razaq got Baba out of the prison. Parvana was so overjoyed. Once Razaq gave her a wagon, she and Baba left the prison. Razaq collapsed, he bled more than he did, and then he died. The moon shone brighter than normal, it had a silvery ring around it. I remembered the name of his wife. Hala. He was part of the Taliban, but wasn't in agreement to what they were doing. Dying was a relief. It was his way of atoning for what he did. Razaq's redeemed himself. He's with his wife now.

I watched Parvana push the wagon with Baba lying in it. He was unconscious but breathing. A few miles off I saw Soraya walking and she was carrying Zaki on her back. Behind them, I saw Mama-jan. I was happy to see them reunited. Then Baba woke and asked Parvana to continue the story they were telling before he was arrested. It made me smile when she did. I watched them all get together. All six of them together. It would've been seven if I were still alive.

It was hard for Parvana to get over my death. She spent years suppressing it, and telling the story of the Elephant King was how she overcame it. The lifestyle she lived made it even harder to move forward. It would take generations for things to evolve, and the Taliban threw everyone back fifty years. It would be hard for Shauzia to leave Afghanistan, and she and my sister want to meet again in twenty years. I'm not hoping they won't meet again, but sometimes, even in death, you have to be realistic. I wish she joined Parvana and my parents. She would've been better off.

They're all wrong. They are not serving Allah the way they are. Allah is not angry at women who don't wear their burkas. He is not angry at people who disobey Him. He does not punish those who think and feel however they want. And He does not punish those who don't serve Him "the right way." They aren't serving Him. If they think they are, they're mistaken. They're gravely mistaken. I just hope some of them come to see the error of their ways and work to remedy them just like Razaq did.

Did war make man, or did man make war? I'd say it goes in both ways. Both have existed for as long as anyone can remember. Destruction has always existed, and from destruction came life. I'm not saying what's going on in my country is good, or bad; it's a combination of both. I don't know how long this war is going to last, but I hope things will change for the better. I want things to change in my country. I want people to care about one another. To look out for each other. To treat each other with respect. For children to be free to be who they want, and play and sing and dance. I want things to go back to when my parents were children. I want to see all that return. I want everyone to be free. Free to be who they want to be.

Everything is bleak by how I see them. But there is still hope. Other countries have better opportunities, and I wish things could be like that in my country.

There's never going to be a perfect place. There is no such as thing as perfection. Humans were not made to be perfect. We were not made to be perfect. We cannot conceive perfect. People may see themselves as perfect in their own right, but there's still no such thing. War warped our minds and seal our hearts, it coaxed us to be detached from our emotions and see them as poison.

I wish they would know peace.

Nothing is going to change unless someone does something. Someone will take the first step. And from there, revolution. A revolution for the better. A minority will still feel superior, but I know people have a chance. They don't know differently, as far I know, and as far as Parvana knows, but I know they have hearts...somewhere deep down.

Thanks to fate and God, a general balance will finally be restored.

I know my family will be alright. I'll wait for them however long it takes. I have all the time in the world. And we will be together again.

I wish you all the best in this life.

Well, anyways, I hope you enjoyed this fanfic. The cover I used was one I had already used before. I couldn't find a screenshot of the movie for this.