‘Help! Help! He’s going to kill me!’ Hearing the screams, Shirkuh ran through the dark streets of the town. Suddenly he came around the corner of a building. A soldier was holding a knife to a woman’s neck. Her eyes were wild and afraid. Shirkuh didn’t stop to think. In a minute, the two men were fighting for the knife. In another minute, the soldier was dead, his blood bright red on the ground.
Late that night, Ayyub heard a soft knock at the door. It was his brother Shirkuh asking for news. ‘The baby hasn’t come yet. The mother’s having a bad time.’ The father looked at his brother. ‘Why are you hurrying?’ ‘Ayyub. I’ve just killed a man by mistake, but I was angry.’ ‘Shirkuh! Why did you do this? It’ll be difficult for us here in Tikrit. The man’s family will make trouble.’