Who's Home is This?

Prologue 1944, Germany

It started with murder. They came in hundreds, guns in hand seeking out those who were different. We were killed and captured, shoved into train cars, bound at the hands, sitting, standing next to and sometimes on top of those around us. We yearned food or water but all we got was blackness. They deprived of the simplest of things, including sunlight, they closed the train cars and we were left, cramped, listening to the cries and moans of those around us, the blackness eating at us, devouring us. we were jostled about until we would come to an abrupt stop and we would all be thrown forwards and tumble into each other. then they would open the train cars, and the sun would shine so bright that it felt like it was burning us. They would grab us, pulling and shoving us onto the the ground, dragging us through the gate and tossing us on the ground, shutting the fence door, and locking it. we looked around, there were rows of cabins, and one particularly large hall with a few cans of food scattered around. There were guards bearing swastikas stationed all around us. we carefully carried those who couldn't walk into drafty cabins with hard uncomfortable beds. this was our home for ages, every week more people were trucked in and each week, people were trucked out, never to be seen again. Our food was scarce, we got barely enough to survive on. this was our home. Some people even had children, most of them died of hunger or disease, and those who lived were less fortunate than those who didn't. We were there for almost a year. Mourning those who died in the camp became an almost familiar routine. When they finally closed the camps, rescuing those of us who were left, we felt out of place, scared of our own shadows. we cowered in the backs of rooms, watching, terrified that they might try to recapture us. We weren't safe there anymore. We packed our things and moved to a place that we believed was safe. We moved to Israel. There were others there when we got there. But we didn't mind, we just built our cities next to and around them. This was our safe place, our sanctuary, our home.

Chapter 1 Abdul's POV, 2015, Palestine

Light danced between the leaves of the trees, creating beautiful patterns on the soft ground of my back yard. The plants swayed in the wind and birds chirped in the trees. It was so peaceful here, here, it was hard to believe what my parents were telling me. Stories of the guns, and the Israelis pounding down doors, and shooting those inside. Why? Why would someone do that? Kill innocent people who had next to nothing to defend themselves with?

I sat back in my chair, gazing at the serene yard in front of me, here the only evidence of conflict was the tall wire fence that stretched for miles, dividing us (who's us?) from the Israelis. I walked towards the bushes on the far side of the yard and stepped behind them and slipped comfortably into my usual spot that looked out past the fence, where I was hidden, out of sight for those looking out from my house. This was my sanctuary, I came here and relaxed, letting any memory of conflict slip away back through the bushes. usually I could stay there, undisturbed for at least an hour, but not today, today something strange happened.

I was just about to lie back and relax when I heard a strange tapping noise on the fence. I looked up and saw a boy, about my age looking at me from behind the fence. His face was contorted with a mixture of disgust and wonder. I watched him, slowly reaching through the fence, I held my hand out as a greeting. "Hi, I'm Abdul." I said, hesitantly. He looked at me with an almost thoughtful expression and slowly reached out and grasped my hand, shaking it.

"I'm Samuel..." He replied, uncertainly. He let go of my hand and sat down, opposite me, looking at me with a thoughtful but slightly exasperated expression written across his face. we sat there awkwardly staring at each other, not sure what to say, for what seemed like hours. Finally, I conjured up the courage to say something.

"So, how's it goin' on your side of the fence?" I asked. I knew it was lame but it was something to talk about.

"Not bad.... You know, the usual, just hanging out.... Not really all that much... it's pretty low key." He stuttered. It was clear that he was very uncomfortable and really didn't know quite what to say. Unfortunately, neither did I.