Stories from Palestine 2023

Mr. Monday - Part 1

Note: Sorry for the wait, I had to change some details. Reminder that this is a fictional story with fictional characters. Enjoy! Free Palestine 🍉

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October 7.

Saturday evening was the holiday of Simchat Torah. By now the streets should be loud in Jerusalem, but it was calm at grandmother's house in the Kibbutz Be'eri. I was visiting her from Thailand. She was taking her evening nap when it happened.

When we heard the sirens. It rang loudly throughout southern Israel, heard from as far away as Tel Aviv—according to my father. He told me that our enemies were attacking with rockets from Gaza, and he told me to take my grandmother and my brother Kay and evacuate to the house.

I glance from the window—smoke billows over residential areas. The neighbors were sheltering behind the building. It didn't take me long to pack our bags, and granny had already woken up from the sirens. I was panicked but I tried to keep my cool in front of them—granny's heart wouldn't withstand a panic attack.

My father called again. He told me not to leave the house because it was too dangerous. The rockets weren't strong enough to launch through the house and kill us. We're safer if we don't move.

After a while of comforting each other, I opened the TV to distract us from the sirens and the rockets—only to listen to a chilling announcement from the head of the Brigades, the military wing of Gaza's governing body. A shadow was cast on his face as he said, "We announce the start of Operation Al-Aqsa Flood, we announce that the first strike, which targeted enemy positions, airports, and military fortifications, exceeded 5,000 missiles and shells..."

Pounds on the door startles me. It keeps going until the door breaks down, and five men come in. They all had their faces covered and held the biggest guns I've ever seen.

My heart races as they approach us, wearing bulletproof vests and green headbands with Arabic letters on them.

The TV muffles in the background, "... the Israeli military announces that there has been a breach in security barriers. This is a terrorist attack. Palestinian fighters have crossed the Gaza border into Israel..."

One of the armed men steps into the living room, his tall figure stands between us and the TV. I pull my little brother closer to me and clutch granny's hand. We're all gonna die. His eyes scan us and the room.

"Shalom," he says with a raspy voice.

"Shalom," answers granny. I am impressed
by her calmness. "Who are you?"

The Palestinian man raises his chin proudly, his fingers tightly clutching the assault rifle. "We're the resistance."

Then the man says something in Arabic to the other four men, who then walk out, leaving him alone with us. I was staring at the weapon in his hand... which thankfully was pointed at the ground the whole time. "What do you want, son? Why do you bring us all this terror?" asks granny.

"I apologize for the door," he says as if this was at all important right now. "I want you to call the occupation forces."

I was already trying to sneakily dial the police... So it didn't take time for me to have them on the phone right away. I tell to them exactly what's going on as the Palestinian terrorist watches me. When I hung up, he said, "Good. Now we wait."

And we wait, and we wait. An hour passes and we are sitting awkwardly in the living room, panicking silently as the man sat across from us on a chair he pulled from the dining room. He decides to reopen the TV, and we hear the news about the attack. How it was in several places in southern Israel, not just Be'eri. A phone call was aired of a lady who was hiding in her closet as the terrorists attacked her house and family. Blood spilled. From the looks of it, it doesn't seem like we are going to survive this. It's only a matter of time.