The Palestinian Plight

Chapter 1

The abrupt gunshot jolted Ahmed awake in his makeshift tent. Panic seized him as he scanned the dimly lit space, only to discover an emptiness where his parents should have been. Dread crawled up his spine, and his eyes widened in horror as the realization struck like a thunderbolt.

Rushing out of the tent, Ahmed's heart shattered. His mother, desperation etched across her face, knelt at the feet of an Israeli Defense Forces soldier, tears streaming down her cheeks. Another soldier had his father in a vise-like grip. Ahmed's younger sister clung desperately to the soldier's leg, her tear-streaked white frock marred with holes.

"Do what you want with me! But let them be! I beg you!" his father pleaded, his voice choking with desperation.

"Please don't take him away! I beg you! Please let my husband go!" Ahmed's mother pleaded.

With a forceful kick, the Israeli soldier callously shoved her aside, pointing his rifle menacingly at her. Ahmed's heart raced, and he cried out, "Ya, Ummi!" as he sprinted toward her, fear consuming him.

The soldier spared no mercy for the child. With a brutal swing of his rifle's butt, Ahmed crumpled to the ground, consciousness slipping away like grains of sand. The crowd began to move in on the soldiers. But then an Israeli jeep arrived from the distance, firing bullets into the solemn night. At the sound of the bullets, the people began to scatter.

Without wasting further time, the two Israeli soldiers hauled the man and his daughter into the back of the jeep and sped off into the horizons, the unknown darkness reclaiming them.

Ahmed's mother took him in her arms and wept bitterly, tears rolling down her cheeks, her voice ringing in the wind. The mother's screams were something that would surely break anyone's heart. The pain in their voice when they weep for their loved ones can never be matched by anyone else, for nobody can love as deep as them.

Her tears trickled down onto Khalid's forehead, gradually making its way towards his eyes. He slowly opened his eyes and felt like a thousand needles pricking him at the side of his head. He looked around where his father and sister had been but felt a tightening in his throat when he found them absent. Yet, at the sight of his mother's cheeks, wet with tears, all of that pain vanished.

"Ya Ummi, where did they take Baba and Nur? I feel scared, Ummi. Will they come back?" (Baba - Father, Ummi - Mother)

His mother remained silent, lost in her grief, her abaya dampened by the flow of salty tears. Ahmed, rising onto his knees, gently cradled his mother's face in his palms. Tenderly, he wiped away the trails of sorrow from her cheeks and spoke, "I'll bring them back to you, Ummi. I'll ensure no harm befalls them."

His mother held him close and kissed his forehead. "I'm sure you would, Ibni." (Ibni - my son)

That night, sleep eluded Ahmed. The haunting image of his father in the clutches of Israeli soldiers and the echoes of his mother's desperate pleas replayed constantly in his mind. The innocence reflected in his little sister's eyes only intensified the emotional turmoil. Bright stars punctuated the darkness, and the full moon presided over the vast expanse, casting its glow on the sorrowful interior of their makeshift dwelling—a hollow space furnished with only two moldy mattresses, two broken plastic chairs, and a wooden table with three legs.

They had been forcibly evicted from their prior abode, a once-spacious home near the Gaza coast. The melancholic cries of seagulls, reminiscent of earlier days spent joyously playing by the shore with his family, resonated in Ahmed's ears. Despite the passing of half a decade, the warmth of those cherished memories endured, casting a bittersweet light upon their current dire circumstances.

His mother, overwhelmed by sorrow, had succumbed to a tear-stained slumber, and the gentle moonlight softly outlined her frail form as she leaned on the table. Ahmed's heart twisted in anguish at the sight, a sense of helplessness setting upon him. In order to escape the overpowering thoughts, he walked out of the tent and began to climb the abandoned cell tower.

Below him, a cluster of tents, each adorned with different hues, swayed in the wind. Before him, in the distant horizon, the twinkling lights of cities pierced the darkness, while behind him, the black sea sprawled endlessly, its mystery both ominous and inviting. The relentless Israeli bombardments had reduced once-standing structures surrounding the tents to ruins, triggering harrowing recollections of destruction and despair.

Sitting on top of the tower, Ahmed struggled with thoughts of saving his father and sister from the clutches of Israeli soldiers. The sound of his sister's tears caught his attention, bringing tears to his eyes. He harbored a fervent desire for revenge, from the depths of his heart, but the path remained shrouded in uncertainty.

As he gazed into the night's abyss, a faint glimmer caught his attention near one of the bombed buildings. Figures wearing all black outfits, adorned with a shiny green band across their foreheads and rifles slung over their shoulders, emerged from an opening in the ground, resembling ants emerging from a colony, one after another. They assembled themselves in a precise square shape. The leader, donning a ghostly white mask, took charge and lifted his rifle high in the air, bellowing, "Mujahideen! Taqadum!" (The faithful warriors of Islam! Advance!)

The man's voice, unusually loud and clear, carried across the distance, reaching Ahmed even from approximately 200 meters away. Ahmed's eyes sparked with intrigue as he witnessed the group preparing their worn-down bikes, embarking on a determined journey into the boundaries of Gaza.