Childhood Memories

When we were kids, Hassan and I would do everything together. Climbing trees, annoying the neighbors, sling shotting dried walnuts and mulberries, and running kites. Secertly he was my best friend. Secertly because he only my best friend when others weren't around. I mean who wants to be known for being best friends with their servent? Certainly not I. So it was a secert. When other kids would come over to play I would act like Hassan was dirt and not let him join in on the games. I would oven test his loyalty to me and make him do dangerous things. Hassan always did what I wanted. Sometimes, he could even read my mind. I couldn't understand it. How could Hassan be so humble and couragous?
My father Baba had built the most beautiful house in all of the Wazir Akbar Khan dsitrict. He bought me the latest toys, yet there was always something missing. Everything that I got, Hassan also recieced. Baba never missed a birthday of Hassan's and always invited him on our trips into the city. The way I saw it, Baba loved Hassan equally as much as me. It wasn't fair. Hassan hadn't done anything to ear Baba's affections and yet Baba still had sympathy for him.
I wouldn't know it until later, but the winter of 1975 changed my life forever. It was the day of the biggest kite running tournemnet in all of Kabul. Baba had faith that I could win and have the last standing kite. If I could do it, Baba would see me at a whole new level. I readied my kite with Hassan and it took off. Thousands of kites gracefuly floated in the sky. As the minutes passed the number of kites dwindled down. From the corner of my eye I could see Baba sitting on the roof eyeing me. This was my shot. A mere two hours later there were only two kites left in the sky. The blue one and my very own. My hands stained with blood and blisters I could hear Hassan next to me cheering me on. "The Lift adn Dive," Hassan whispered. It was an old trick Hassan had taught me that never failed in kite running. It worked! I was the Kite Running Champion. Hassan took off to go and retrieve the blue kite. I stood there letting it sink in, it was still hard to believe. I raced after Hassan down the street never happier in my life. Panting, I slowed down and peered around an old ally. Hassan was on the ground with three boys surronding him. They were taunting him, whipping him, and beating him up. The gashes on his back with blood spilling out sent shivers up my spin. This was my chance to stand up for Hassan just like he had for me so many times. Instead, I ran. I ran and ran all the way back home.
A week later, Ali (Baba's servent and Hassan's father) came to Baba with the news. He and Hassan would be leaving. Baba begged them to stay and sobbed for weeks after they left. That was last time I ever got spoke to Hassan. My best friend.