Naseer explained his situation a little. Hasim would be trapped in the dungeon with other prisoners and strict rules. One of the rules was no communication with the outside. Hasim already knew he'd have to break that one.


He would be interrogated more. ISIS needed information about America and Assad's forces and the actions of other rebel groups more they wanted to kill him. For now. Because of an escape other prisoners made by drilling a hole in a dungeon wall, Naseer would oversee them during the day and someone else would watch them at night.


This was the first gift Naseer gave Hasim, information. Something so many other prisoners of ISIS weren't afforded. They were thrown into the situation blind, enduring the psychological torture of not knowing what was going on, what was going to happen to them, and if they were doing something wrong at any given moment.


Naseer left to help with the other prisoners, which seems like some pretty bad behavior for an overseer, but has Hasim wasn't about to complain. The moment he was gone, Hasim whipped out his phone and texted his mother, “stuck in Isis dungeon, Dad got killed, I'm relatively unscathed, are you okay, how is Fatima”


A few seconds later he got a reply, “thank Allah you're alive. Fatima and I are fine, we got out of the city and are heading to a refugee camp. It is a dangerous journey but less dangerous than staying in the city would be. Be careful, I love you, if you can tell me who is with you, please do but BE CAREFUL.”


“Who else is with you” Hakim wrote back.


Then he heard footsteps. He quickly put his phone on silent and hid it in his pocket. As other prisoners were marched in he realized he had to do everything possible to save battery and had to find a better hiding spot for his phone.


The night guard was not as nice as Naseer. Naseer had warned Hasim about this though so he was prepared. When they switched Hasim had enough time without a guard to take out his phone and put on every battery-saving measure he could. He also checked his texts to see a list of names — all the people he knew who survived the attacks. The list was much too short. Then the new guard ambled in and Hasim retreated to a back corner of the dungeon and started digging away a tiny little nook in the already cracked cement to hide his phone. It took about 30 minutes, but no one noticed and eventually it was the right size. He slid his phone in and covered it with cement so it was completely hidden.


As hours turned into days, Hasim got used to life in the dungeon. He got to know the other prisoners, most were older than him but some were younger. One was eight. Sometimes the younger boys cried but the eight-year-old didn't. He just sat in the corner of the prison, stone faced.


The interrogations got more aggressive and they came back bruised from each one. They were given too little food. The food they got was crummy, but no one was complaining. Hasim took every chance to text his mother that he was okay. Sometimes they would hear someone being tortured or executed above them.


One prisoner tried to run. The militants made all the others watch as he was electrocuted, beat half to death and then put in a cage to starve to death slowly. Hasim saw Naseer close his eyes during the spectacle and prey.


Naseer might have been the only thing that made the place livable. The other guard didn't let the prisoners talk, except to recite the Quran. One was in the dungeon. But Naseer let them get away with murder and would try to entertain them, like he was their friend. Naseer would get everyone to act out pieces of his favorite sitcoms. Only ones with good Muslim morals of course. It got them all laughing. If they had been caught he would have been beat to death along with the rest of them. ISIS made sure they lived in fear and got barely enough to survive. Hasim was sure the prisoners, especially the youngest, would have fallen to the psychological torture if Naseer hadn't facilitated comic relief.


Days turned into weeks. Hasim started talking to Naseer about ISIS now. Trying to understand how this boy who was always laughing and trying to make people happy could join a terrorist organization trying its hardest to make life miserable. Naseer always argued that the ends justified the means, that Assad was evil and the West was killing innocent civilians and occupying Muslim territory. ISIS was the only way to fight back. Mohammed would have wanted his people to fight back. Hasim argued that taking civilian lives was never justifiable, and Allah taught them to value life and the brotherhood of mankind above all. They ended at a stand still every time.


A few weeks in, the fear and lack of food was taking a noticeable toll. They were out of hope. They knew they weren't going to get rescued. ISIS was getting weary of holding them and not getting any information. Prisoners would start getting killed soon. Aariz, a prisoner who happened to be a doctor, held a dungeon wide meeting. He explained,


“This is bad, but it will get worse and be truly terrible if we lose hope. ISIS is trying to kill us psychologically. We need a plan to keep our hopes up. I think we should Institute a buddy system. We match everyone up with someone that they have to stay close to, be nice to, and make happier and less scared.”


Most of the other prisoners agreed that this was stupid but they played along anyways. After they all had been matched up, Naseer asked,


“What about me?”


“You don't get a buddy” Aariz said, incredulous “you're the captor”


This turned into a (very loud and ridiculous) lighthearted argument. They didn't hear footsteps descending the stairs. A militant burst into the room,


“what's going on here”


“nothing, nothing” Naseer explained


“You weren't supposed to let the prisoners talk to each other” the militant looked at Aariz “30 lashes each​” he pointed at Aariz “you are charged for plotting with fellow inmates” he turned to Naseer “and you are charged for fraternising with the Enemy.”


“Seriously dude” Naseer said. The militant grabbed Aariz and Naseer and dragged them up the stairs.
“Did Naseer just talk back to an ISIS elder, using slang?” A prisoner said. “He may have a higher chance of being killed than us, and we have a 100% chance of being killed” this statement made Hasim’s new 9 years old “buddy” start to cry. Hasim hugged him until his sobs turned to sniffles. Maybe the buddy system wasn't so stupid.


Hours later Aariz and Naseer returned, backs bloodied. Naseer was already smiling. He reminded Hasim of Fatima, the ability to get hurt and bounce back immediately, like he hadn't got hurt. Before the attacks the kids in Hasim’s town would play jump rope by tying one end of the rope to a tree and having someone hold it higher and higher each time they jumped. Most kids would stop after it got to the point they weren't sure they could jump it, but Fatima kept going until she caught her foot and face planted. Then she would jump up and try again, usually laughing as blood poured down her leg from the new scratches.

Days after the meeting, Hasim’s daily interrogation took a different turn than usual. Right off the bat the militant started asking worrying questions,


“do you have any family?”


“Yes” Hasim replied


“Did you have a phone?”


“Yes”


“Did you have your phone when you were captured?”


“No.”


“Are you sure?” the militant pressed


“No... I mean yes I'm sure I did not have my phone”


“So you haven't been using a phone to text anyone, to text your family?”


“No I haven't”


“Really? Because we just got information that you have a phone and are texting someone, acting directly against the rules.”


“I don't have a phone”


“We know you have a phone, tell us where the phone is and you'll only get 50 lashings. Don't and we'll have to beat you until you tell us where it is.”


“I have no phone for you to find” Hasim would rather be dead than not be able to tell his mother he was okay.


They gave him at least 200 lashings. The pain was nearly unbearable. They would stop periodically and ask him if he would tell him where the phone was. He refused every time. At some point he lost sense of time, all he knew was pain and blood and the feeling his skin being ripped apart. He still refused to tell them where his phone was hidden. They threw him back into the dungeon.


Naseer had figured out what happened and tried to talk some sense into him,


“they're going to keep trying to find it, they won't stop. They're just going to hurt you more and more”


“I'm not going to tell them” Hasim said. Naseer didn't argue anymore. On the guard change Hasim texted his mother he was still alive, he hoped that would still be true the same time the next day.


The next day the beat him less, but they stopped feeding him and showed him videos of beheadings, threatening him trying to scare him into telling. They did the same the next day and the next. Hasim wasn't sure how much more he could more he could take. After three days of being starved, they gave him a little food. After 4 days of non-stop beatings and interrogations the militants ignored him and the other prisoners for most of a day. Hasim would have been happy for the respite, if he wasn't so worried ISIS was going to start executing them. Even Naseer didn't know what was happening.


That afternoon, a new prisoner joined them. He was American but spoke Arabic, like them. He had blonde hair and brown eyes and explained he was a journalist that was about to be executed in the morning. He was beat up and emaciated but his expression was set in a smile. He sat by the wall and told them stories of America and his work as a journalist. As the guard change came closer, Hasim asked why he smiled,

The journalist told him,

"I knew I would run out of luck sometime"

"Why did you come here? To Syria, I mean"
"I told you, I'm a journalist."

"But why here"

"Do you know where America is," the journalist asked.

Hasim smiled because he knew Fatima's answer would be 'I know where every country is and all their capitals. What do you think I am, nine?' Hasim settled for the less combative,

"I took world geography"

"Well America may be far away, but it is big and powerful and it's people can stop the war here. The suffering here. But if the people don't see it, don't hear stories of the people suffering here they will never care. They will never do anything"

Naseer left to get the other guard.

Hasim quietly grabbed his phone.

"Hey, you can text your family" Hasim offered, handing him the phone. The journalist started typing, then handed Hasim the phone. It had a new contact.

"My family will tell our army, who will track the phone and get us all killed. This number is a rescue group near here, they'll give you a ride away from here if you can get out to a meet up point." Hasim hid the phone as the night guard came in. He mouthed "thank you" and the journalist gave him a grin.

The next morning, the journalist was executed.

As soon as he could, Hasim texted the new contact the journalist had given him.

"ISIS has captured me and people from my town, and put us in a dungeon please help”

They wrote back that they could get a car about 300 feet away from the dungeon, hidden in another bombed out building.

Hasim started planning the next day. When he was taken out for interrogation, he paid attention to the layout of the building. He realized the concrete of the basement was relatively thin and about a foot of the top of the basement stuck out of the ground. He texted the rescue organization to send a truck at 2:30 AM and hoped his plan would work.

Hasim figured his luck hadn't run out yet because a lot of things went right by chance. The ISIS militants were still preoccupied with the fallout and general excitement from killing the journalist. This meant they were less aggressive in trying to find Hasim's phone. They weren't feeding him and he was woozy from hunger but at least they weren't beating him.

That night there was no moon. Hasim hadn't even thought of it, but the light from the moon would have completely thwarted his plan. Also, Naseer was taking a double shift, which meant their guard was tired... and Naseer.

That night he told the other prisoners his plan. Most said it was too risky but three agreed to help. The four of them spent hours picking at cracks in the concrete. The old concrete crumbled relatively easily and quietly. Naseer was sitting in the opposite corner, all but asleep. The light from his lamp didn't come close to illuminating the corner Hasim and the others were working in. They made two holes, with two prisoners working on each. An hour in, three more prisoners joined them, making a third hole.

Finally, the time came. Hasim checked his watch, 2:45 they were behind schedule, but the holes were big enough. With a boost from the eight-year-old who was helping him, Hasim scrambled through his hole, chipping away concrete that caught in his clothes. He turned around and helped the eight-year-old through. Beside him other prisoners were doing the same, helping each other get out. But something was wrong. Light was coming from the holes. Hasim pulled the eight-year-old up and pointed him towards the truck. From the basement Naseer looked up at Hasim, gun drawn.

"please" Hasim whispered, Naseer stared at him for a long second then said,

"I won't call alarm. But be careful, if anyone else hears you…"


Hasim released a breath "I know, thank you Naseer, thank you"

Hasim wanted to say so much more, but there was no time. As soon as he reached rescue group's truck, shooting started. The driver floored it as Hasim helped pull another prisoner in. Another prisoner was running towards them, Hasim screamed "wait!" But a militant shot the prisoner before they could pick him up. Nine prisoners had been killed in the escape but thirteen made it, including everyone who had worked on the holes. Eventually the truck stopped and the rescuers gave them food and water before starting again. Headed towards the refugee camp where most of the people from Hasim's town had fled.

They finally stopped at a Shantytown. The refugee camp. People came streaming out of tents to welcome them. Fatima got to Hasim first, hugging the breath out of him.

The situation at the refugee camp was rough. Crime was through the roof, they were running out of food quickly, there was barely any safe water and no medical supplies. There was a soccer ball though. His family had been waiting for him before applying for refugee status. While Hasim's mother filled out paperwork and talked to the UN about getting Asylum, Fatima and Hasim played soccer and tried to scrape up the basics their family needed to live.


Weeks later the UN rejected them for refugee status. The official assigned to their case explained that Hasim had to strong ties to ISIS.


“Let me get this straight” Fatima had said “Hasim was kidnapped by ISIS which makes him not refugee enough to gain Asylum, seriously? He was kidnapped by ISIS doesn't he need Asylum more than anyone!”


Things got worse at camp. They would be out of food within a month and no one was going to help. Fatima got sick and had no access to medicine. Hasim's family's only tie to ISIS was him. If he was gone, they would have a chance at Asylum.

That night he stole a Knife from his mother's bedside. Three weeks before he had freed himself from ISIS, now he had to free his family from this death camp. But first he prayed. He had so much to pray for. Hasim prayed an apology and hoped Allah understood. He prayed for his father's soul, the one he hadn't gotten a chance to mourn. He prayed Naseer hadn't been killed by ISIS and that Allah forgives him and leads him down the right path. He prayed for the other prisoners and refugees. He prayed for peace and kindness and the people of his country, of his world. He prayed his family got accepted into the refugee program he paid his mother could create a new life in America and he prayed for his sister. But he wasn't worried.

He remembered when they used to walk home from school together. Fatima got out first and would make fun of the boys. As soon as they got mad enough to start coming back at her, Hasim would come out with his friends to yell at them and defend her. His sister could be a pain but she was smart. She deserved a future.

Hasim squeezed his eyes closed. His neighbor had chickens and showed him an artery you could cut that would kill them immediately. He hoped it was the same on humans.


Fatima found his corpse the next morning. She and her mother were accepted into a refugee program a month later. They were moved to a refugee camp set up by the UN and eventually granted Asylum in America. When they arrived they're taking the side for hours of questioning and nearly deported under Trump's order. They were worried the stories they heard about America being even safer and better than Syria before the war were lies, until they were released into crowds of people from all walks of life welcoming them home and leading them to lawyers who could help.