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- Story Listed as: True Life For Teens
- Theme: Survival / Success
- Subject: Horror / Scary
- Published: 09/23/2014
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The last bit of my fire wood burnt, black ash is all that remains. Agony, pain, torture and heartache, facets of life I’ve acquiesced. For me this is day to day happenings. Under the scintillating stars, I lay in an Arab land, my home land, in a land that lives within me and a land indubitably from amongst the HOLY LANDS, PALESTINE.....
Famished, and my entire family vanquished, the rain mingled with my brown eyed tears as I lay next to an immobile body of a thing of former beauty.
Surreptitiously having removed her body from our dilapidated house after it was bombed, making a casualty of my only sister, left me vehement about revenge.
It had been a day where the grey clouds covered the serene sunlight as I took my hands out of the bucket of water raised on bricks. An eerie sense of fear engulfed me as the sounds of RPG’s grew louder.
Sara was performing her prayers when the familiar bomb dropped.
I shut my eyes, not wanting to view the misery I was being subjected to, but as I mustered the courage, I glared on with a lump in my throat. Her eyelids and mouth were open, her tongue bulged out, blood trickled and then ran profusely down her sleek body and her skull was in two pieces.
Without a minutes hesitation, I placed her between my shoulders and ran as fast as my weary legs could carry me. Running in rubble, over dead bodies and playing dodge ball with missiles, made my journey all the more challenging.
My clothes sodden and out of breath, I clamoured with my hands raised to the heavens, “oh God, you can see me can't you? you love me don’t you? So ease my sufferings.”
My pace thereafter had changed from a brisk walk to a saunter. Coming across a grass pitch, barely 2x2 meters in size, I lay there, as difficulties cascaded upon me.
As my adrenaline wore off, I swayed in and out of consciousness. With the wind the only hand to caress my aching heart and the rain the only source of nutrition for me, all my robustness had vanished.
3 days later, as I write this, with blood as my ink and dried leaves as my paper, I plead to whomsoever this might reach to pray for me and my fellow Muslims suffering.
MY PAIN AS PALESTINIAN(Khadija)
The last bit of my fire wood burnt, black ash is all that remains. Agony, pain, torture and heartache, facets of life I’ve acquiesced. For me this is day to day happenings. Under the scintillating stars, I lay in an Arab land, my home land, in a land that lives within me and a land indubitably from amongst the HOLY LANDS, PALESTINE.....
Famished, and my entire family vanquished, the rain mingled with my brown eyed tears as I lay next to an immobile body of a thing of former beauty.
Surreptitiously having removed her body from our dilapidated house after it was bombed, making a casualty of my only sister, left me vehement about revenge.
It had been a day where the grey clouds covered the serene sunlight as I took my hands out of the bucket of water raised on bricks. An eerie sense of fear engulfed me as the sounds of RPG’s grew louder.
Sara was performing her prayers when the familiar bomb dropped.
I shut my eyes, not wanting to view the misery I was being subjected to, but as I mustered the courage, I glared on with a lump in my throat. Her eyelids and mouth were open, her tongue bulged out, blood trickled and then ran profusely down her sleek body and her skull was in two pieces.
Without a minutes hesitation, I placed her between my shoulders and ran as fast as my weary legs could carry me. Running in rubble, over dead bodies and playing dodge ball with missiles, made my journey all the more challenging.
My clothes sodden and out of breath, I clamoured with my hands raised to the heavens, “oh God, you can see me can't you? you love me don’t you? So ease my sufferings.”
My pace thereafter had changed from a brisk walk to a saunter. Coming across a grass pitch, barely 2x2 meters in size, I lay there, as difficulties cascaded upon me.
As my adrenaline wore off, I swayed in and out of consciousness. With the wind the only hand to caress my aching heart and the rain the only source of nutrition for me, all my robustness had vanished.
3 days later, as I write this, with blood as my ink and dried leaves as my paper, I plead to whomsoever this might reach to pray for me and my fellow Muslims suffering.
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