He was hanging out with his friends. As you do when you’re sixteen.
Taking a picture on a smartphone. Wearing a red sweater. What were his plans for the day? Was he in love? What were his dreams? Which side was he supporting? Eight? Fourteen? Did he even care about politics?
Taking a picture on a smartphone. Wearing a red sweater. What were his plans for the day? Was he in love? What were his dreams? Which side was he supporting? Eight? Fourteen? Did he even care about politics?
Maybe he was only interested in girls, and hanging out with his friends, as you do when you’re sixteen…
As he did that day. When the bomb went off. A bomb targeting someone else. Someone he probably knew nothing about. Because he was just interested in girls and hanging out with his friends, as you do when you’re sixteen…
Today everyone is talking about him. Tomorrow everyone will forget. And go back to their petty fights and silly debates.
His name was Mohammad al-Chaar. And he’ll never have a birthday again.
© Claude El Khal, 2013