He hadn’t had a wink of sleep for days. It all happened so quickly, he was still trying to get his mind around what actually struck the town of Bikurat. He sat there slouched against the wall looking straight at the wooden door. The ground beneath him shook as tiny ceiling debris continued to fall onto his hair. He stopped ducking at the sound of tremors and gun fire days ago. His eyes barely able to stay open as drowsiness began to kick in. He turned his head side to side, no sign of foods, before his stomach started rumbling. Everything that had once shaped the life of someone was scattered on the floor. Dead.

He rose to his feet, peaking across the streets though the window. He froze. Shocked, as the street was filled with figures covered in balaclavas, all of them heavily armed. The women and children bunched together, hugging and crying, forced to observe the massacre in front of their eyes. Men lined up in one line casually push by armed terrorists from behind with a figure in a dark grey khaki shirt, sleeves pulled up and army camouflaged trousers . There was a something rather peculiar about him. His hair was no smooth, as the bold patches disrupted the rhythm like the execution of each civilian and skin was tanned probably from fighting. The man had his arms pointed out with a pistol, always stationed at the exact position. A mere second of a flash of light erupted followed by a sound the rippled through my ears as if I was next to a fireworks display. The echo of the ear-splitting BANG carried on. Headshot. The body dropped instantly towards the hard dusty surface as blood continued to accumulate before figures pulled the body away. He couldn’t watch the horrific massacre in front of his eyes, what was going through the minds of children and mothers? He returned to his seated position while the shots continued to ring out. He wanted to punch the wall, but was afraid he would be heard. He had discovered the true events that were constantly taking place in terrorist controlled areas.

The ringing in his ears had stopped as the sounds of engines roaring slowly diminished. Chris forced himself up, walking hurriedly towards the door, down the stairs to a store that once sold fruits. All the windows shattered onto the concrete surface, the shelves lay pilled upon each other with canned products scattered on the floor. He ran out into the open,