The air was heavy, filled with ash and smoke that burned my throat with every breath.
I crouched behind a broken wall, holding onto a bottle of dirty water that I couldn’t afford to waste.
Overhead, the sound of shrapnel tearing through the sky was deafening. Somewhere behind me, a tank came closer.
I didn’t think; I just moved. My legs carried me to another corner, another fleeting sense of safety.
I wasn’t brave and I wasn’t a hero. I was just trying to survive.
During the genocide, I stayed in northern Gaza for seven months. ….more
