War for peace

a short story about palestine by a 13 year old.....

There was dust every where, I could hardly keep my eyes open. I felt myself being pushed backwards as a crowd of people rushed past us; I clung even more tightly to my mother’s hand as she pulled me through the crowd, towards the exit. I could hear people screaming, shouting, and crying. Their words muffled and inaudible against the constant sound of BOOM, BOOM, BOOM I heard down in the city. Finally, we broke through the crowd, and into the open air. I gratefully took a breath of fresh air, but, it caught in my throat… I choked, my eyes filling up with tears, at the scene that I saw before my eyes. Bodies lying on the road, people screaming, or else searching for their loved ones. The road was not black, but red, bright red with blood. I could look at it no longer. I turned my eyes towards the heavens, expecting to see a clear blue sky, but saw instead dust and blood-red fumes.

The street that had once been full of joy and laughter lay in despair and grief. The houses that had once stood tall and proud had collapsed and the city park had become a graveyard of gloom and sorrow. In the midst of this chaos my mother's tight clutch around my wrist loosened and our fates tore us apart. “mother” I screamed at the top of my lungs, but in vain. Trying to ignore my fears, I blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. “mother, mother” I screamed yet again.

A paramedic pushed past me as he rushed to aid a victim. The sight I saw made me sick. A man who had just escaped from a collapsing building, lay panting on the side walk, his arm gone and blood rushing from his wounds. A few feet away from him, a 6 year-old girl was crying over the body of her mother. Not far from her, a woman sat next to her three dead children. The sight made me shiver, my insides went cold and a million questions swarmed in my head. Why were these people made to suffer? What had they done to deserve this? Was their only crime, being a Palestinian? Or was it being a Muslim?

It seemed improbable that anything like happiness ever existed in this place of despair, death, pain and suffering. And whilst hell broke loose in Palestine, Muslims all around the world sat talking and chatting merrily amongst themselves, not knowing, or perhaps not caring, about their brethren in Palestine. I ran away from this sad sight unable to bear it any longer and searched for my mother. I could only hear the screams, the sirens and the sound of collapsing buildings. I ran frantically looking for my mother, until finally my search came to a terrifying halt. I spotted my mother's familiar face buried beneath a heap of bloody corpses; her eyes looked horrified and still seemed to be searching for her lost child...me. I felt as though my mind was in freefall. I felt dizzy and my head grew hot. I screamed, it could not be true! The evidence of all my senses must be lying, because my mother could not be DEAD! “Mother,” I screamed, “Mother!!! No. Come back. Don’t leave.” I screamed for my mother. I yelled for her to comfort me, to tell me that it will be okay, to say that it will be better in the morning. I felt no comforting arm on my shoulders; no one told me that tomorrow it will all be better. It seemed to me that the world had surely ended, that after so much pain and suffering, death could surely be my only relief. Tears trickled down my cheeks and I let them fall, for what was the point of wiping them away? The sirens rolled on, the cries grew louder and the sky got darker.

“Mother, father. Wake up please.” I turned around to see a little boy, no older than five years, calling for his parents, unaware perhaps, that they might never answer him again. His cry brought me back to earth with a jolt. Anger and fury replaced sadness and gloom as I saw the tanks approach the city. These were the monsters that had torn apart so many families. Many people screamed and ran but I stood rooted to my spot, refusing to move. They may have taken away our homes, our families and our friends but the one thing they will never take away from us is our faith. We will fight, for the loved ones we have lost, for the land that is rightfully ours. We will fight till the last man, and fight with everything we’ve got till we bring peace back to this country.

As they approached us with guns, I felt not fear, but rage. I was armed not just with stones but with my faith, the power of which these monsters could never understand. What was the Muslim world doing? Why were they not helping their brothers in their time of need? Did they think that by turning a blind eye to us they could stay safe? And that a similar calamity would never reach their doorstep? Well, they are WRONG!! The enemy would destroy us all, one by one. It is better to stand against the enemy together as a unit. The enemy is afraid of us; it hides behind the tanks fearing us even when we are unarmed. They lack the power of faith and tremble at the thought of a united Muslim Ummah. What are the Muslims waiting for?

I looked up at the blood red sky and prayed for peace, tears pouring down my cheeks. Suddenly I felt a searing pain in my leg; I knew that I had been hit by a bullet. My knees buckled and everything went dark .I felt myself falling through the darkness into the awaiting hands of death.