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Bismillahirrahmanirrahim.
In the name of Allah the most beneficent, the most merciful.
I  testify that there's no God to be worshiped but Allah.
and I testify that Muhammad (SAW) is His messenger.

Ya Rabb...
Please help my brothers and sisters,
They whom become the soldiers in Your path
Be it everywhere they are,
Palestine, Syria, Myanmar, Chechnya, Kashmir ,
Malaysia.
Save us and save them.
And guide us to win against our enemies.
Ameen~
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Seeing is believing.

A loud, earth-shattering explosion destroyed the tranquil calmness of dawn. The people knew that this day would come. Finally, it had, although by all means it was no reason to celebrate for a joyous occasion. The scenario was reminiscent of a hypothetical doomsday scenario-fires engulfed the remnants of the houses and shop lots ,leaving the crumbling and turning to dust. An all the chaos and madness, lives were lost to the hands of a cruel tyranny faster than the people could make sense of what was going on.

Aqil gasped for air. His injured limbs struggled as he tried to displace the jagged pieces of rubble that smothered him. The thought of a home he had just lost spurred him to further hate his oppressor and vow to avenge his loss. Ignoring the bruises and cuts that peppered his arms,he heaved upwards and dogged furiously to the surface. tasting the oxygen he craved for so much only served as a temporary relief. As his nostrils cringed at the stench of foul,acrid smoke and the metallic smell of blood, he realized that he could not see his son.

He scanned the barren wasteland. The destruction was overwhelming. The outlandish scene no longer bore signs of the once peaceful village that it had once been. Inching himself forward, he squinted through the holes of red smoke and the sight of a familiar face made his heart skip a beat.

Hassan, his son, was alive.

It was all the comfort he needed. However, Hassan's frail, thin body showed obvious scars of  injury. he was bleeding. Aqil stopped to think for a moment.

In a distance,he could barely make out a band of half a dozen soldiers and tanks moving towards the city. Perhaps Aqil's village was merely an appetizer. Aqil often wondered if the regime's appetite was insatiable. Why did they bear so much hatred and grudge for Aqil's people,he often wondered. In his tearful prayers to God everyday, he would ask the same question. WHY?

Aqil knew that he had very limited options. The nearest hospital was a few miles away and daylight was coming fast. It would be risky. It would not be safe. However, Hassan had to be saved. Slowly, in his bloodstained clothes, he cradled Hassan in his shaky arms and began walking northeast.

As Aqil arrived at the small town he was looking for,the sun was up high and the temperature was reaching just above forty. Ignoring the blistering heat of the desert heat that was starting to scorch the soles of his shoes, he trudged on to find a bus station that would take him to the city. A few minutes later,his heart stroked brain struggled comprehend the cashier's words.

All buses going out of the town were fully booked. The people knew they were next on the regime's hit list. Aqil pleaded to each and every person to give him a seat, but his cries fell on deaf ears.

He wondered, how could the image of an aging injure man carrying a wounded child of five years old not arouse a sense of pity, or even a tinge of humanity? It was clearly wrong . Being desperate,he began knocking on the doors of people's house.

Fortunately,Aqil secured a ride to the city from a family that was going to the city too. Lost for words at the family's kindness, he choked on his tears as he thanked the family.

Aqil was silent throughout the ride. Hassan's cotton bandages were starting to wear off. Aqil prayed like he never had before. He had only one thing left in this world. It was hope.

Hope.

Such a powerful word. Aqil clung on desperately to it. He believed that if he hoped hard enough, maybe, just maybe things would work out.

Boom!

A sudden bump on the road overthrew the balance of the car. In the space of three milliseconds, three things happened. The car flipped,an explosion burst and they were thrown forward.

They had hit a bromine.

The haze that covered Aqil's vision forced him to rely on gut instinct. With a short burst of adrenaline,he freed himself and Hassan out of the burning car. Aqil saw with his eyes, the band of soldiers he had seen earlier,running towards them with guns in their arms.

The impact of the explosion had stirred Hassan's consciousness. He was awake, and tears filled his eyes upon registering the immense amount of pain.

The United Nation Hospital for Humanitarian Effort was ten metres in front of Aqil. He tried to move,to stop the soldiers,but his limbs betrayed him.

The soldiers were catching up. With one last breath, Aqil shouted 2 words.

"Hassan, run!"

Hassan looked at his father,and then the soldiers. He understood. Reluctantly leaving his father's side,he staggered into the hospital,his limbs numb because of heavy loss of blood. The soldiers could not touch him in the hospital.

Aqil smiled weakly. His son was safe. As the soldiers drew their weapons and took aim,the thought of his son being alive overpowered all fear he held for his oppressor.

With a battle cry, he charged at the soldiers with a broken piece of metal that fell earlier from the car. He hoped and believed thet he would not be the last person to stand up and fight against Israelis.

My father died a hero, defending his honour,homeland and family.

I did not ask for all this,but what could I do?

Fate choose Palestine as my home.

It still is. I just hope the rest of the world understands. I hope that my father, along with thousands of others, did not die in vain.

I hope that they would give us back the one thing we want.

Our HOME.

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I'd like to thank you, the writer of this heart-touching story.
I don't know you. Neither knowing whether this is a true story or merely a fiction.
But still, thanks. Because somehow, it IS how suffering my brothers/sisters are.
There, in a land they called their HOME.
An SPM candidate last year was using your story.
She copied,pasted,edited.
But still with the same aim, to shout to the world. And let them know,
How much the pain they( the Palestinians) have to bear.
And the candidate scored good grade.
She thanked you, Mr. Writer.

Aqil, Hassan might only the characters in this story.
But we knew better. 
There are more than just Aqil and Hassan who struggled for lives,
in a land named Palestine.