This photo marks the moment my life ended.
This photo makes me think: how did I reach them?
I was sitting with my father and cousins all together.
My father was next to me.
We were talking. I was asking my uncle: "Uncle, who will come out of this war alive?”
This uncle was killed, may he rest in peace. I asked him: "who will survive?”
He told me "Only the few who are destined to have a long life".
He had just finished saying those words when they hit the house.
We went out ourselves, to bring back the martyrs.
It was difficult, we were all afraid.
It was difficult to enter the fridge,
the smell inside was horrid.
I went inside and took the little girl, Jana, and left.
I carried her, refusing to give her to anyone else.
I got into the car and we went home.
We brought her to the mosque, prayed for her,
she stayed in my arms
until we buried her.