Dead Messengers

A paper floats from the skies.

From a distance its falling looks graceful. Up close, however, we can see it flutter. It struggles with winds that threaten to tear it apart.

It is racing.

Being the bearer of bad prophecies it must arrive before the  prophecy it bears is fulfilled. Already the jets are warming up. Preparing to take off. Final checks are in order. Fuel tanks are being refilled. A group of pilots chat idly. Another stands in a corner, watching –  filling his lungs with sweet nicotine.

The paper knows. The paper knows that this is happening. It saw it as the man pushed the stack of papers towards the first jet. It felt it as the ink slowly seeped its way into its fiber.

(who said the prophets died?)

 Altitude is being lost way too slowly. The paper flutters, fights, struggles to increase the speed at which the ground moves up to meet it. Out of the top right corner the paper can see some children playing football. Way across the field a mother is breastfeeding. Directly below the paper some men sit, passing around a waft of smoke.

(If only they knew)

The ground steadily makes its way up – not nearly as fast as it should. The paper is panicking. A hand grabs it out of the air. It can feel the sweat dripping from the palms of this human. As the seconds pass the grip on the paper gets tighter.

“No…. No…”

“YES!” it wants to scream. “This is true!” But, being a paper and having no other means of communication but showing itself, it only sits in silent despair. The hand crumples it and throws it to a corner of the room.

There are footsteps, many of them. People are shouting. Things are being thrown apart. Drawers are being emptied. Clothes are dumped on sheets and sheets are tied up. In the corner a child cries for an explanation. None is given. There is no time.

(If only I’d fallen faster)

Then, as suddenly as the noise began, there is silence. Outside crowds in the street are frantic. Inside is the paper and the leftovers of already forgotten lives. Way up above – a bomb drops.

P.S – As I write this 227 Palestinians have died, 1685 wounded. Of the dead 47 are children. And 1660 homes have been destroyed. #FreeGaza

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