'I'm sick of hearing about this. I am hopeless.'
His Palestinian eyes glistened, a hazel gleam in them. He looked 'sick of this!'
He lived on Nuzha Street, in Ramallah. The long street knew Sunday walks to church every morning; people adorned in their 'haut-couture', according to the Greek Orthodox ritual.
This Armenian family made the best chocolate in town. Everyone could taste it at the mention of their name.
Across from their villa was a tall and lonely minaret that tried to be part of the Christian culture around, and was in turn warmly embraced as a 'half-equal'.
The fugitive was wantonly wanted.
The Israeli German Shepherd knew no mercy. Not that the dog did not like humans. It was taught to hate 'human or not so human-like' Arabs.
It bore its heavy cameras with an ostentatiousness worthy of only the best of its breed. It never questioned their purpose. Suicide Dog. Oblivious to the destiny it was trained for...It had to follow that scent! The scent of a human Arab, hiding in what looked like an ancient temple, ready to come down.
And he found him! The struggle was beginning to feel endless.
Suddenly, a shot was fired.
The minaret wheezed as it took its last breath. The dynamite was more overwhelming than the spears of the conqueror's centuries ago. In an glimpse, it had become a grave. The tomb of the unknown Arab.
The bricks of the ages of ages fell on the Armenian home. The glass shattered the childhood memories of all the shade that it once gave, in those afternoons of hide and seek, and peek-a-boo! The sky frowned back at the Armenians in their living room. Its clouds now formed a gigantic background poster behind the family couch. All the chocolates in the world could not bring back the sweetness of that shade...in the once cozy solarium.
His hazel eyes now in a haze...'I'm really sick of this!'
His Palestinian eyes glistened, a hazel gleam in them. He looked 'sick of this!'
He lived on Nuzha Street, in Ramallah. The long street knew Sunday walks to church every morning; people adorned in their 'haut-couture', according to the Greek Orthodox ritual.
This Armenian family made the best chocolate in town. Everyone could taste it at the mention of their name.
Across from their villa was a tall and lonely minaret that tried to be part of the Christian culture around, and was in turn warmly embraced as a 'half-equal'.
The fugitive was wantonly wanted.
The Israeli German Shepherd knew no mercy. Not that the dog did not like humans. It was taught to hate 'human or not so human-like' Arabs.
It bore its heavy cameras with an ostentatiousness worthy of only the best of its breed. It never questioned their purpose. Suicide Dog. Oblivious to the destiny it was trained for...It had to follow that scent! The scent of a human Arab, hiding in what looked like an ancient temple, ready to come down.
And he found him! The struggle was beginning to feel endless.
Suddenly, a shot was fired.
The minaret wheezed as it took its last breath. The dynamite was more overwhelming than the spears of the conqueror's centuries ago. In an glimpse, it had become a grave. The tomb of the unknown Arab.
The bricks of the ages of ages fell on the Armenian home. The glass shattered the childhood memories of all the shade that it once gave, in those afternoons of hide and seek, and peek-a-boo! The sky frowned back at the Armenians in their living room. Its clouds now formed a gigantic background poster behind the family couch. All the chocolates in the world could not bring back the sweetness of that shade...in the once cozy solarium.
His hazel eyes now in a haze...'I'm really sick of this!'