By the sandy shores of Ghazzat, a young boy stood.
The sea was calm and turquoise and he dreamed of
sailing away one day. He was awoken by the noise
of artillery, tanks and fighter jets; the aliens were on
a collective punishment mode, to teach his people
a lesson, having had the cheek to hold a democratic
election and voted the wrong party into power.
On a hill, on the other side of the border, youngsters
were applauding the carnage. Billows of smoke and
flashing fires, like watching fireworks in the middle
of the day. What a great day! Coffee and strudel was
served to the hungry crowd.
The boy, by the shore, was hit by a stray bullet, mind
he had no business being there, and as his blood
oozed into the peaceful sea and sailed away, he looked
up and saw the grinning face of a fighter pilot, not
much older than himself who, after his mission, had
a story to tell his mates.
