A MOTHER looks out the window. The planes are flying low now. The bombs start to drop. One by one, they fall from the sky like loaves of bread. As they strike their concrete targets, the ground shakes and rumbles. Plumes of mushroom-shaped smoke fill the air.
The mother draws her child closer to her bosom. She is asleep, oblivious to what was happening outside their ramshackle house. The girl, who only just turned three a day ago, opens her big, round eyes. She gazes at her mom for a moment before returning to her dream world.
Sleep my baby, sleep, the mother says, as she gently rocks the child. There is nowhere to go, nowhere to run. The streets are littered with lifeless bodies. A huge crater now occupies what was once her cousin’s home a block away. She could hear the frantic cries of women and the wails of children.
As the birds of death fly over their home, she embraces her child and whispers a prayer – for deliverance.
On the other side of the bank, a lieutenant barks instructions over his handheld radio. He had just received orders to mobilize his men for a ground assault. An hour ago, he argued with the generals that there was no need to deploy additional troops, as they would only be sending the men to their graves.
His plea fell on deaf ears. They wouldn’t listen. They didn’t want to listen.
The officials had enough reason to order the aerial assault. Their long-time adversary broke a temporary truce by launching a series of rocket attacks in several villages, forcing residents to flee their homes and establishments to close shop.
A feeling of de déjà vu washes over him, as images of the last war flashed before his eyes.
The lieutenant searches his back pocket. He pulls out a frayed picture he had kept for the past 15 years. For the first time in weeks, he breaks into a smile.
In the photo were two boys in their teens, their arms over each other’s shoulder. They bore a strong physical resemblance, except that one was slightly taller and muscular than the other.
Although bound by friendship, they were eventually pulled apart by their personal beliefs. One wanted to be a soldier, the other a freedom fighter.
One promised to protect his people from the mujihadeens. The other vowed to liberate his countrymen from their so-called oppressors.
Both were good, honest men who dearly loved their families. And both were willing to sacrifice their lives for their principles – and their homeland.
The lieutenant looks at the heavens in supplication. He then issues his final orders.
A tall, well-built man in a kurta leans against what remained of a brick wall that was struck by enemy fire. He carefully surveys the area before making a dash to the other side of town, as the sound of jet engines roar in the distance.
His body tenses, as he tightens his grip on his AK-47, which has been his companion for the past 15 years. He has had no sleep since the other side started its air assault three days ago. Yesterday, the house of his comrade was hit by a rocket, instantly killing him, his wife and three children.
The road is covered by leaflets which fall from the sky like snow. They warned his people to stay away from the streets and to find shelter. He couldn’t help but smile at the irony of the message.
And the irony of life.
He knew that rockets and bombs did not distinguish between friend and foe. They obliterated everything in their path and left a swath of death and destruction. The number of casualties will continue to rise in the days ahead.
And his people will once again bear the brunt of the attacks.
Most of the evacuations centers were already full-packed, as people started to spill out into the streets. Women and children were given priority, as men scrambled to find areas of refuge.
Food and water was becoming scarce by the day. An embargo imposed by the enemy had made it virtually impossible for foreign aid organizations to bring in much-needed relief goods to the enclave.
Images of his burning city were playing across all major international cable networks and Internet news channels. As expected, the United Nations came out with a statement condemning the attacks and imploring both parties to return to the negotiating table.
Representatives from neighboring Arab nations called on the governments of the contending parties to immediately implement a ceasefire and enable international relief groups to do their job.
Leaders of the world’s most powerful countries had also pledged to act as mediators and find a long-lasting solution to the armed conflict that has raged on for decades.
As the warrior started to re-load his rifle, he recalled an e-mail he received from his soldier-friend on the other side. The message hinted of the impending attack and pleaded him not to take part in the armed confrontation.
“Be safe,” the email ended. He deleted the message and no longer bothered to respond. He knew that although a mere border separated them, they were already worlds apart.
As long as the walls of apathy and hatred stood between their people and governments, the war will continue to be a never-ending cycle of death, hunger and destruction.