Trapped in Homs and being reduced to target practice, civilians run and rest and run some more, constantly seeking a safer shelter than the previous sanctuary failed to provide. Running and hiding and running some more may only provide a slim chance to live, but openly defying Bashar al-Assad will absolutely lead to a certain death.
A hole in any wall or rounding the next street corner could lead to cover from the indiscriminate shelling or expose your head to the snipers sites. When that kind of terror touches ones core while embracing ones soul, only those with the strongest of instincts to survive can summon enough strength to see through that blur of blinding fear.
Running and hiding and running and hiding until you must run and hide some more is your only option. It is options A B & C. Knees scrapped raw from crawling, ankles aching from falling, but arms made weary from helping a new friend keeps you moving.
Not knowing who to trust or who to turn to after being separated from your family only magnifies and intensifies the horrors . Through the eyes of young teens, alone, perhaps for the first time in their lives facing the unyielding savageness seems surreal yet nightmarishly dream-like.
Each passing day, almost mercifully ones heart begins to deaden just a little bit more to the stress of the continuously paralyzing fear. Some aren't so strong: Where is my mother, they took her away, where is my mother, they took her away... Where is my mother??? That's all she says now, for she feels no more and never will again.
Ever! Eyes never sleep, feet are always cold, someone's child is always sick, everyone is hungry, some sacrifice while others are greedy, some lead and others follow, but no one really knows where to go. No place is safe, no one can help, no one knows if anyone cares. Are we alone? Is this the end of the world? Do we die today? What about the children? What about my baby?
Can someone please keep the little ones quite! No, there is no more fresh water. The armored trucks are near. They're searching this street next. We must move, we must move now! Please keep the children quiet.
If only we had weapons we could fight some would say, but others would quickly argue for the children who'd surely be killed. No one knew what to do with the little ones. What do we do with the children? When they tire we carry them, when they hunger we give them our last, when they cry we comfort them, when bullets are fired upon us we shield them.
Is that all we can do for the children many would ask, but the answer was always the same, we can run and hide and then run and hide some more.
And we can no longer run and hide some more... My father is bleeding, can you help please? Please sir my father is bleeding badly can you me? Please sir, my father has died can we bury him in this space? I am most sorry, but that space is for my son, my son.
Please God I will be good forever. Please God help me. Please.
As much as we wish we could help... We need more time to think.
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