I don't know how I will die.. Israeli journalist: A message from my friend in Gaza

Yasri Al-Ghoul, a writer from the Gaza Strip who still lives in Gaza City surrounded by death on all sides, states that he will not leave his city, where he lives next to the ruins of his home, even if it costs him his life and that of his family, because he has no place to escape to, and no way to do so.

The newspaper Haaretz published a translation of a letter he wrote to journalist Ilana Hammerman, with whom he formed a friendship via email, saying, "I don’t know how many days I have left, death surrounds me on all sides just as it surrounds this city that bleeds relentlessly."

The writer began his letter, "I don’t know how I will die, whether from a bomb dropped by a small drone flying in a smoke-filled sky, or from shrapnel of a howitzer shell fired randomly, or from a warship directing its fire towards our area near the sea, or perhaps I will be killed by a treacherous missile from a reconnaissance plane or an F-16 fighter jet."

The only thing I know - Al-Ghoul says - is that I no longer think about how I will die, but where my body will settle, will I fall among the ruins near my home while fleeing from the shells with my children, or will my remains be scattered along the dirt road filled with tents, or perhaps I will be buried without saying goodbye to my wife and the rest of my family.

I imagine it now in my mind, "We run towards the Beach refugee camp. The sky rains fire. Missiles explode around us. I fall to the ground and see my little son bleeding and moaning. I reach out to him, crying and trying to crawl towards him, but I discover that I have turned into scattered remains, and wild dogs approach to devour what is left of my flesh."

"And there, between the moment of death and the moment of awareness, my memory and vision return today vividly, I return to the days when I dreamed of a bright future for my children. I saw them as doctors healing people's hearts, and engineers building a new life from among the ruins, but the occupiers decided otherwise, for in the eyes of the young soldiers, the children of Palestine do not deserve a tomorrow, and their dreams are nothing but a threat that must be erased."

"I will die in silence while the world watches my worthless body, content to sit in front of television screens and follow the scenes as if they were a long horror movie. Sometimes it applauds with cold tears and sometimes it yawns, but it does not scream."

The writer mentioned that his story and that of his family resemble the stories of tens of thousands who have been killed by young soldiers who do not like butterflies, as if they are superfluous beings in an absurd story whose only hero is blood. He added, "I will die while my fellow writers are asleep, and I will soar above the clouds, planes, moons, stars, and galaxies, and ascend to God, accompanied by a million children with steel wings."