The boy curled in to corner was more scared then he had ever been. He had his hands clasped over his ears, trying to block out the noise. But nothing could stop his family’s screams.
He was in his attic, hiding. The world was at war, countries had turned against each other. Alliances had been formed. But every so often countries would betray one another and change sides. The boy had no idea who it was attacking his home. All he knew was that as soon as his family heard the sound of gunfire, they had taken him and hidden him in the attic. They stayed downstairs, and it wasn’t long before a huge crash came and the soldiers poured in. He heard shouting downstairs, and then the screams started.
He was only nine years old. Nine years old and forced to listen to his parents being tortured. Tears were flooding is eyes and he made no move to stop them. He heard a gunshot and his mother’s screams end. His father was also silent, but he had heard the threats that his tongue would be cut out hours ago. As soon as he heard the gunshot, the boy cried out.
He froze. But the damage was already done. The voices fell silent downstairs and he heard footsteps. The boy moaned silently. There was a shout and he heard something thrown into the attic. The boy sat in the corner, not making a sound, wondering what was going on. Then the grenade exploded.
The boy was thrown back, but since he was so close to the wall, he hit it almost immediately. For a moment there was nothing but the pain to him. Then he opened his eyes, his ears ringing and every part of him throbbing.
Men were standing there, weapons ready. About a dozen of them, all covered in blood. His parent’s blood. The boy was too sore to cry. Instead he just looked at the men.
The looked back at him, their faces covered by masks. There was a moment of stillness. Then about half of them raised their guns and bullets tore through the boy.