(He is in a private room of an asylum center, sitting on wooden chair, looking at a photo of his family on the desk)
Should I really stay here, doing nothing while my family are on danger? My mother was kidnapped by masked man. They are looking for me.
People who were not able to pay U.S. dollars for the price of their freedom are still trapped in that torture chamber. Even now. In this very moment.
If I went back, and if they found me, I would be killed for sure, like them. Mum told me to run. Just run. Escape.
I just left. I escaped from Syria. Now I am in this asylum center. I have new family. I’m safe, for sure. I’m now waiting for my application to be processed, watching kids ride in circles outside. Walking in a nice, quiet forest.
But I can’t just stay here. My family are in danger. My mum is a great mother. My dad is a great father. I want to kiss mum’s hands. I want to have big hug to my dad. I miss them so much. I need to go ba…! (pause) What is this… what is this image in my brain!? A flashback? A memory? What am I scared of…? I should be a brave man! My father is great soldier. Mum told me not to embarrass him!
But what can I actually do on my own…? I couldn’t even save my friend! Oh no… this is nightmare…building 215… torture… I still have an image of his suffering face in my memory! That tooth-missing, bloody and mournful face…! Hey, Khalid. Brave man. Son of a great soldier. Don’t you remember what they did to your friend!? They beat him with sticks, peeled back his nails, shocked him with electric cables and send him to his death… in front of you! Don’t you remember how miserable he looked!? You have to take revenge!
But I’m scared! My body doesn’t work as I ordered it to! Each cell of mine is feeling terror of those cold-blooded men! I can’t do anything! Come to think of it, it’s my fault he died! it was just a small feeling of interest! Photography was my hobby, and I started taking pictures of protests and posting them to media so that the world can see what is happening - I thought I could make some changes! That day, my friend and I climbed a tall building to take a photo, but we were both spotted by Assad’s thugs… If I hadn’t asked him to join the protests, he wouldn’t be dead… I killed him! It my fault! What have I done… what have I done!
(he calms down)
Hey brave man, tell me what can I do at this very moment. Do you really have the courage to go back to that hell, even if your family is still trapped? Do you think you can save people who are being tortured? Son of a great soldier? That’s good, so what? Does that make you any different? You can’t do anything, sitting on this solid, cold wooden chair.