Yezda

Hearing the gunshots, my mother came to me. “What's going on in the village, girl?” said. It was as if it wasn't him speaking, but as if the voice was coming from under a deep well. “ISIS has taken the city of Mosul, mother!” I said. “This was bound to happen!” said my mother in a whisper. He collapsed on the ground in front of the window and did not speak again. I had never paid any attention to my mother because I had been trying to get my father out of the room where he had imprisoned himself for days. Now I saw that my mother had lost half of her life after my sister's murder. I sat next to him, held his hands, he did not resist. The gunshots were getting louder. When the door of the living room where we were sitting opened and my father entered, both my mother and I were very surprised. My father looked more like a ghost that had woken up in his grave months after his death than a living being.  His lips were cracked, his eyes were sunken into their sockets, his eyes were dark, and the circles were visibly sagging. I waited for my mother to attack him. But my mother didn't move or even look at him. My father came to us, walking slowly.

"Why are these guns exploding, Ezda? What's going on in the village? "They are killing my Yazidis?" he whispered. His voice was difficult to come out. While speaking, he frequently swallowed and wet his lips.