I wake up, the sun on my face, the burn on my skin.
I cannot seem to fathom why I can't escape this hell.
I run to the bathroom, to relieve my weary body from this pain.
I see them coming as I dry myself off, the trucks, the men, the guns shimmering in the desert sun.
I hate what they think of us, they are justified to a point.
My father is one of them, an extremist.
I decide it best to do the unthinkable, I will rebel.
My bug-out bag already packed.
I know they will help me if I make it to their tents.
As I run from the door I hear the noise,
A whistle at first then a loud crack.
The mortar and dirt stings my eyes.
The men have arrived a little to early.
Then I hear it. The realisation of betrayal.
My father, the household head.
"What are you doing my son?"
"I am done father, I am running away."
He turns with a stern look in his eye and commands me upstairs.
"NO! I am done father. This war is for nothing and I no longer believe."
The noises grow louder as the armoured vehicles draw to a stop.
My father turns one last time with hate in his eyes.
"You will not run any further, you were right, you are done."
He raises his gun and aims at my head, i close my eyes and pray to Allah that I am saved.
I here the shot, this cannot be right.
I open my eyes and see my father laying lifeless on the ground.
He chose his fight and lost.