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Once Upon A War


The place seemed to be packed with absence.

A smashed print of The Crying Boy, another one of the Arabic word Allah الله and a glimpse of a red sofa through the dense grey scene, telling it had been a living room.

Glass from the windows littered everywhere. Beside a brutally crushed door, trapped by the heavy twisted metal frame of the building, a suitcase was filled with a pile of rubble and disappointment; as if the life of the people who lived there, had been too short to get it packed, and run away.

Like the last warrior who remained alive after witnessing a horrific massacre, one wall, on which there was a smashed photo crowded with people and memories, stood there, resisting the fall. While fighter jets were loudly roaring, bereaved screams and shouts out on the road were heard saying “O’ Allah! Help us!”

No one survived there.

Amid it all, near a neglected lonely doll, there was a small hand sticking out of the rubble – indicating the fall of humanity.

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