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The Bus Stop
Teenage Faris sobbed and whimpered as he held the bloodied remains of his little sister. She had just asked him to watch her jump rope outside. As was customary, Israeli bombers just destroyed the home near him. The family of a martyr. Only the indiscriminate bombs also claimed the life of his sister.
Growing up in Nabulus, Faris was no stranger to death and the fighting that took place between his people and the Israelis. His family held a name in that fight. The fight had always touched his home. It just never touched home like this. The hatred Faris felt at that moment could not be contained. He brushed the dirt and gathered the strewn about pieces of his sister, deciding at that moment, he would seek revenge for this.
Faris knew exactly who he needed to speak to in order to get the ball rolling. He went to the mosque, spoke to the brothers, and was told, "someone would contact him." True to the word, the following day, he was contacted. He was given instructions to wait outside of his home at a specific time. He didn't tell his mother. She would disprove of the path he was on. No, he had to do this for his sister and the Palestinian people.
A car arrived. He was greeted by two men who had a very hard edge to them. He knees these were fighters. They all looked the same. He was blindfolded and was driven in silence for what felt like two hours. Finally, he arrived at a small flat. Marched upstairs still blindfolded, he was sat in a chair and made to wait for what seemed like an hour.
During this time, he didn't have to imagine, but he kept the last images of his sister in his mind. The countless times he had been harassed for simply being a Palestinian in military-controlled Nebulas. His hatred and anger grew from seed to tree in that short span. Faris, whos name meant knight, would become the knight he was and avenge his sister, no matter what was asked.
Faris was a devout Muslim. Very few people in his circle we're not. He was just never a militant Muslim. Sure, he had thrown rocks as a child and hated the soldiers, but he never wanted their blood as he did now. Besides, who wouldn't want to abandon...
Growing up in Nabulus, Faris was no stranger to death and the fighting that took place between his people and the Israelis. His family held a name in that fight. The fight had always touched his home. It just never touched home like this. The hatred Faris felt at that moment could not be contained. He brushed the dirt and gathered the strewn about pieces of his sister, deciding at that moment, he would seek revenge for this.
Faris knew exactly who he needed to speak to in order to get the ball rolling. He went to the mosque, spoke to the brothers, and was told, "someone would contact him." True to the word, the following day, he was contacted. He was given instructions to wait outside of his home at a specific time. He didn't tell his mother. She would disprove of the path he was on. No, he had to do this for his sister and the Palestinian people.
A car arrived. He was greeted by two men who had a very hard edge to them. He knees these were fighters. They all looked the same. He was blindfolded and was driven in silence for what felt like two hours. Finally, he arrived at a small flat. Marched upstairs still blindfolded, he was sat in a chair and made to wait for what seemed like an hour.
During this time, he didn't have to imagine, but he kept the last images of his sister in his mind. The countless times he had been harassed for simply being a Palestinian in military-controlled Nebulas. His hatred and anger grew from seed to tree in that short span. Faris, whos name meant knight, would become the knight he was and avenge his sister, no matter what was asked.
Faris was a devout Muslim. Very few people in his circle we're not. He was just never a militant Muslim. Sure, he had thrown rocks as a child and hated the soldiers, but he never wanted their blood as he did now. Besides, who wouldn't want to abandon...
