Story Title: "Hala: A Voice from the Rubble"

I am Hala, 15 years old. I loved drawing before the war ate all my colors. Every morning I would wake up to the sunlight coming in through my small window, but now I wake up to the screams of mothers, the sound of planes, and the shaking of the ground beneath our feet. We no longer have a window, we no longer have a home😭😞

My father... our hero, was martyred a few weeks ago when he went out to bring us food. He always used to say: "Hunger may kill, but hope keeps a person alive." He left and with him hope. My uncle, who was trying to build our small tent, also left. I remember his cracked hands from collecting firewood, and how he looked at us with a smile despite his exhaustion. Now I am here, trying to understand how a child like me can protect her family

We are now in a cold tent, on the outskirts of a destroyed city. My sister, Jourie, the little one, is seven years old, crying every night from the cold and hunger. My older sister, Nourhan, is doing her best; searching for water, trying to find food by any means.  My mother, the beautiful sad one, sits silent most of the time. Her eyes are filled with tears but she doesn't cry in front of us. She says she's trying to stay strong for us. 😓😓

I don't know where the escape is. I feel like every road is closed. Hunger is eating us away, the bombing is all around us, and the cold is making the tent feel like a refrigerator. I try to be strong, but sometimes I feel weak. Who can help us? Who can hear our voices?💔🙏🏻