Kavah (WIP)

Bereshith -- Beginning

"Yo did you hear that?"
"Yeah, sounded like someone's house got targeted again."
"But Baba, it sounded like Mr. Ali's!"

...

THE LIFE OF THE HIDDEN

September 1st, 2040

        "A girl. Torn from the sun made to keep her shine, only to be captured in the inferno of hyper-reality. A girl. Expected to withstand what the world throws in her path, but failed to meet those expectations. She cannot feel. She cannot cry. She failed to fear the occupation. She is just...what do they call it? 'Subhuman.' She doesn't know why her people fight, or why the opposers provoke, or why houses and cars and city streets combust and why the sky lights amber at night. She just stands there and watches the world crumble before her eyes. I am Zafrat Hamdan, to many, kept to silence, and this is my story."

        I woke up from a restless night of sleep early this morning from a house across the block that exploded. It was the neighbors' on row #112 that used to be best friends with my father. I don't know if he is still alive after that ruckus and my best bets is that he is unfortunately gone from the Earth. But how does it affect me? I have gotten so used to the explosions and loud noises and the constant phone calls by people who we don't even know threatening to blow up some random house a row away that it doesn't even half spook me anymore like they should. And it's a problem. I'm supposed to be afraid, I'm supposed to fear, but it doesn't affect me. And I hate to say that. Because like I said, it's a problem.
           Putting those talks away, it is the first day of 4th grade and the first day of our new "no bias curriculum system". I don't know what it means, but my twin brother is furious. It's probably another rule made by them IDF people. They banned a bunch of the books I used to read, told us we "had to be respectful" by not trash-talking them, and took away most of our annual festivals. I am going to assume the new rule is bad because every new rule is bad when it is made by them. I wish we could break the rules sometimes. I said goodbye to Baba, who was sitting on the couch, putting his face in his hands, and swearing under his breath after hearing the news of his friend.
          "Zafrat, catch!" my brother said, tossing me a roll.
I took a bite of the dusty bread and bolted out of the door with my brother, Kasid, as we were going to be late for school.
As we stood outside of our house across from row #112, I saw the remnants of Mr. Ali's home and another beside it. Looked like a million other houses that I saw that was turned into bricks and pieces of metal. As we attempted to try to sneak a closer look at the damage, an IDF watchbot that was standing guard at the beginning of the row shot a device from its left arm that created a moving laser wall between the two end houses and crossed its arms.
"Oh no! Small specimens are not permitted to enter," the feminine sounding bot said in a spunky, sarcastic tone as I gave it an eyebrow raise. "Go to school little specimens or I will call your mothers."
"Who the fuck are you calling a specimen?" my brother provoked, stepping before me and angrily pointing at the bot with his scratched finger. "If anything, you act just as braindead as an actual Israeli but even they are 0.1% smarter than your goofy ass."
I watched as Kasid continued to degrade the robot, calling it names and slurs, as it kept trying to keep up with his words. I laughed as he impersonated the bot, standing like an NPC and repeated its words. It was all a joke until when he kicked it in its metal kneecap. Its big metal and rubber hands grabbed him by the waist and threw him to the ground, so hard that I thought it knocked him senseless.
"Kasid!" I shouted, rushing to help him back up. "Are you good?"
"Yeah I'm good. Dumbass robot."
As he got up, the now-scary watchbot towered over the two of us, looking like it was getting ready to squash us like cockroaches. We screwed up big time.
"You untrained creatures have approximately 5 seconds to depart," it scolded, its metal right hand starting to spark with electricity. "I wouldn't want there to be two lying small corpses on the ground."
The way we screamed and ran out of there so fast. We literally could have beat Usain Bolt at his own sport. We ran back up our row, turned onto the next, and never saw that bot again. As we turned onto row #123, all we saw were homeless encampments scattered under ruins of past houses. They looked miserable, hungry, and willing to bite off someone's arm if they could. They wore masks of scars and stitches, and if they had on thawbs or hijabs, they looked tattered and blood-stained. Their cold-blooded faces have seen it all, and I wouldn't want to know what "all" was. I asked my brother to hurry up down the block as I didn't want to see them suffer any longer.
We made it to school a few minutes late, thanks to the encounter with the IDF bot. When we arrived into the school gates, protected with automated lasers, there were two more bots standing at the gate, making sure we were counted for attendance. They didn't look as scary as the one we provoked earlier, but they still called us "specimens" as we walked in. Maybe they just all call everyone specimens. As we took a number for our homerooms and schedules, me and Kasid were assigned the same classes. Yesss!
When we entered room 109, the entire homeroom was already there before us. The last two remaining seats were one in the middle, which I took and another in the front middle where my brother sat. The teacher, who was wearing a gray collared shirt and black khakis, a keffiyeh, and black glasses began to introduce himself.
"Salaam students, I am Mr. Assad and welcome to homeroom," he said, dryly and blankly. "As you may know, there has been a few changes in the school system due to the occupa- I mean the government, and I will now update you on what is new."
I let out a yawn as the teacher was literally speaking slow as ever. From the tone and speed of the voice, I could tell he was ether being held at gunpoint to say this or he honestly didn't want to be here. As much as I wanted to ask him "Could you speak a bit faster?" I didn't want to be blatant disrespectful on the first day.
"The first thing new this year is the student names," Mr. Assad added. "There will now no longer be addressing of student names in the classes. If you look on your desks, you see that there is a number on your table. You will be called and referred to by number rather than by name to reduce confusion."
I heard a wave of murmur fall over the class after Teacher said the last sentence. As much solid as it seemed, why does it begin to feel like we aren't being seen as people anymore?
"What are y'all even doing anymore at this point," Kasid sighed, being heard across the room. "These dumb behind rats are pressed over a name."
Another student, who sat behind my brother, spoke up and responded, "There are many ways somebody could have took what you just said. I mean, the number instead of name thing is a bit crazy but what if someone here goes by a name that isn't listed on the sheet? Like a preferred name."
I swear to God, when I say the entire class was looking at this girl like she was crazy, I mean it. In what she said she did have a point, but I don't think anyone agreed with her.
"The hell is a preferred name?" my brother, being the rude person he always is, asks.
After reading the room, I can tell that the girl went quiet as a mouse. I wouldn't risk bringing up a type of subject in the current space. It is the sad truth. If you try to tell people to do something or say something to be more inclusive, there is a high chance you'll get beat up. The only people that you won't get beat up by for being inclusive is the IDF guards and the occupied Israelis. Hell, they might beat you up for just plain existing as a Palestinian.
The teacher continued to lecture, explaining how now there is going to be "curriculum changes" and new material, "no biased learning", and monthly "check ins" done by select members of the new H'agana Chinukh faction of the IDF. To be honest, something seems off. Not the fact that there's new material, it's the fact that the literal military has to inspect the classes once a month.
"When I see one of those colonizers walk in here, I'm stealing their laser guns," I overheard Kasid whisper to himself. "They will be shit without them."
Another boy who had raised his hand, asked Mr. Assad, "Who are the people that are telling us to do these things? They don't seem right and I notice, you don't really seem that excited about it."
As much as I wanted to know the answer to the question as well, I somehow knew Kasid was going to say something rude.
"That's because the people who are making these rules have never seen a father before in their life," my stubborn brother snickered. Classic Kasid.
Unexpectedly, the same girl from before replied, "There has to be a reason. Maybe they are trying to keep school safer for us. I mean, maybe they are changing stuff for the bette-"
"Us? First of all, who is us? You?"
"I said maybe the IDF people are trying to make stuff better for humanity."
"BETTER?" Kasid raised his voice and laughed, "Tell that to them motherfuckers that blew up my Baba's friend's house!"
"Well it's sounding like a "his" problem," she sassed, fixing her ponytail and crossing her arms. "The IDF only blow up houses of people that are threats to society."
I swear I saw steam come out of his ears when she said that.
"I'm starting to actually question if you are Palestinian or not," he said.
The class let out a low "Oooh" after he said that.
"I'm starting to question if you support terrorism or not!
"You're probably an Israeli spy!"
"Your aba is probably a Jihadist!"
"DON'T BRING UP MY FATHER!"
They both spring up from their seats.
"ENOUGH OF YOU TWO!" Mr. Assad abruptly shouted at Kasid and the girl, shocking the entire class. "During my 30 years of teaching here in the West Bank, I have never seen such immature children like you argue over each other's social status like this before! This is why I hate this damn conflict in the first place! It isn't going anywhere and it never will!" He motioned the two out the classroom door. "Both of you to the office, and I don't want to hear anything!"
I just sat there with my mouth shut. I had nothing to say. If I said something, someone would react and I would end up looking a fool. The class was dead silent after that rant, except for the one boy who raised his hand earlier.
"You never answered my question from earlier," he suggested, quietly.
"These people are the government," he sternly told him, "and we have to do what they tell us. Simple. Point blank."
"I actually mean it. Who are they and why do we hate them and why do they hate us? I want to know the truth."
The teacher gave the boy a very glum look, as if he wanted to know the answer of the same question as well. We all wanted to. He just sat there, and fiddled with his pen to come up with the right words to say. And then he said it.

"It's because there are people in this world that want power, and those people who want power will do anything to get it."