Living in a Warzone- Plight of the Palestinian

I am hidden underneath the refuse in what I believe to be an apartment complex. I attempt to stifle my breath, but I am breathing too heavily; it is no use. The stench, although putrid, is not unbearable. The faded grey plastic of the bags that may once have been black, bulge into formation as I writhe, stiffly and without sound, to create a small gap. It is from this gap that I am able to peer through, and see the wall opposite me, a redbrick wall that is typical of such refuse rooms. A door interrupts the casual pattern of the brick; it has been worn to a light brown colour, similar to the colour of mud.  I imagine that all walls in this room accompany the same view.  Stray pieces of clear packaging line the floor, as do wastepaper wrappers, and empty shells. But that is nothing new, shells and used pistol magazines are as common as the everyday heat.  I know, even with my poor sight, that the code “P-50” will be inscribed on that magazine. 

I pray that I am not visible from the other side of the refuse.  As the hinges of the door whine, I attempt to both urgently and silently conceal myself further. Four men, totting rifles and clad in uniforms the colour of sand enter through the brown door. The squeak of their boots resonates against the walls as they scour the perimeter, the wrath of their force ominously present in the hand grenades that dangle from their belts. This reminds me of the children from the village who believe that one grenade can wipe out a population.  A laugh rises in my throat but is quashed by the sight of the soldier approaching the refuse. He glares intently at the refuse, or at me.  I do not know which one. I am not sure if he can see me, but I feel as though he is glaring into the abyss of my soul. My heart pounds so violently. The game must be up. He must have seen me.

Suddenly, he proceeds towards the door, murmuring to his fellow soldier who is standing guard. The second soldier turns towards me, making apparent the lines ingrained across his forehead. The elder officer raises his hands, and ushers them out with one brisk motion of his hand. They leave.

You must wonder why I am hidden under bin-bags, in the blistering September heat. I will tell you why…

I am a Palestinian.

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Hi everyone, 

This is my first Wattpad story, I have been on Wattpad now for quite a while but never had the courage to pull off a story before.

Please let me know what you think of this, I do have a direction planned for this story but will only continue with it if you find it is something that interests you.

Also, I am a very lovng person, and respect the Jewish comminuty, but felt that this issue needed to be raised. The issue of Israel and Palestine is separate to religion.

#FREEPALESTINE

#FREEDOMFORALL