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Sophie Anna

           "What's happening?" Her voice was frantic—scared.

           "The sirens," he said, yelling over the noise.

           "Why are they going off?" She had only been in the foreign country for less than a week, and in that time, she had concluded that the suburbs of Connecticut were definitely all they were cracked up to be.

           "There's a missile coming." He wasn't used to this type of thing, per se, but living in the country his entire life, he had encountered it before—this wasn't anything new, as ridiculous as it was.

           "From where?" She continued to run with him, the noise of the siren beginning to hurt her ears—it was just so loud!

           "Gaza," he said, fully aware that that was one generalized as heck answer if he had ever heard one.

           "Why is Gaza sending a missile here?" She didn't really know too much about the political situation, but she knew that it was bad, and now it was directly affecting her, which sucked.

           "Why not?" he replied, for he didn't have enough time to give a good enough answer—they were still running, after all.

           "But, like, what did we do?" Seriously, she was just out for a stroll, exploring the country while trying to get a nice tan, and then all of the sudden she heard that siren thing and now she was running with some strange but kind of cute guy.

           "I don't know." He couldn't get into it right now with her—besides, she didn't really look like she would understand, even if he had tried to explain it.

           "Are we going to, like, get blown up?" That wouldn't really be the best way to end her vacation—she hadn't even gone shopping at that market thing yet!

           "I don't know." He laughed, grabbing her hand to pull her faster, for he didn't want to find out.

           "Where are we going?" They had been running for the past few seconds, and it seemed like they were going nowhere—they would just keep running and running and running.

           "To the bomb shelter." He could see it just in the distance—there were a few people already there, sitting and waiting for the worst.

           "I don't know where that is." All she saw was a weird concrete tunnel kind of close to them—it looked like it belonged in a skate park.

           "Right in front of us." They were so close—if he wasn't with her, he would've reached it by now.

           "That?" The concrete skate park thing did not look like it would be able to protect them from a missile.

           "Yes," he sighed, wondering why this American girl kept talking—she should've been sprinting right now.

           "We're going to die." She really didn't want to die—and not just because she hadn't gone shopping, but also because she hadn't done all of the other tourist things like ridden on a camel or gone to the Dead Sea or met a Bedouin in the dessert or put a note in the Western Wall.

           "We're going to live." Even if he couldn't guarantee their safety, it was always good to have a positive attitude at times like this.

           "I'm too young to die!" She almost said that she was too pretty to die, too, but now wasn't the time for vanity.

           "We're going to live," he repeated, as it was essentially his mantra for everything; he had survived two years in the combat division of army so far, and he wasn't done yet.

           "How do you know?" How could this random dude be so sure of something like this—it was basically the definition of life or death.

           "I know." Finally, they reached the shelter, and he pulled her inside, making sure to press her against a curved wall.

           "This thing can't possibly save us!" Her back was pressed up against the wall, and she wanted to complain that the dirty concrete would totally wreck her white shirt, but she didn't think that now was an appropriate time for that, so she kept quiet.

           "It will." He was starting to get a little annoyed with her negativity, but this was probably the first time she had ever even heard a siren, so he would give her a pass—she must've been freaking out.

           "What about the shrapnel—won't it hit us?" Now she was really starting to miss Connecticut; she would never have to even touch concrete there.

           "No," he assured her, knowing that the missile would strike at any moment.

           "What if—" She couldn't finish her sentence, for suddenly there was a loud burst in the sky of some sort of collision—she didn't know what it was.

           "Iron dome," he said, watching as Israel's missile counteracted Gaza's missile.

           "Ahhhhhhhhh!" There was a loud explosion and smoke—so much smoke—so she instinctively grabbed onto the guy, her heart beating fast with a sudden rush of adrenalin.

           "It's over." He looked down at the girl, slightly amused that she was holding on to him, but this was her way of dealing with extreme fear, so there was really nothing amusing about it.

           "It—it is?" She looked up at him, not daring to let go until she was fully certain that everything would be okay.

           "Yes." He awkwardly patted her on the back, unsure how to pacify a girl like her—an American.

           "Can we leave now?" If he were telling the truth, then she would be able to get away from the concrete—that would be just awesome.

           "Not yet." The smoke still needed to clear and while the attack was technically over, it was for the best if they waited a few minutes.

           "Why?" Seriously, she wanted to leave.

           "Just in case." He glanced down at the girl again, wishing he possessed as much innocence in regards to the world as she.

           "Does this sort of thing happen a lot?" She couldn't even imagine having to run and hide like that on a regular basis.

           "More than it should," he told her with a shake of his head—it shouldn't have been happening at all.

           "Why doesn't the government just, like, stop Gaza?" This wouldn't happen in the U.S., because the second some country like Canada or Mexico even thought about shooting a missile into Texas or Seattle, Obama and the rest of congress would be all over there asses.

           "With politics and the entire world watching Israel's every move, it's complicated." He wished it would all stop—there was no need for the warfare or the terror.

           "No, it's not. They need to stop." The U.S. and basically every other country on the planet didn't have a tolerance for terrorism, so why should Israel have?

           "If only everyone thought that way..." She was an idealist—this wasn't the ideal.

           "Whatever. Can we go now?" The smoke was subsiding, causing everything to look somewhat okay again, though with a hazy reminder of what had just transpired.

           "I think so." Others were starting to leave the bomb shelter, so he figured it was time for them to go, too.

           "I hope the missiles stop." She let go of the boy and then gave him a soft smile that she hoped conveyed her support.

           "So do I." So did the whole country—it was unanimous. 

           "Well, bye, I guess." She began to walk away from the hollowed out concrete, but turned back to wave at him.

           "Bye." He left the bomb shelter and looked up into the midday sky, seeing the route of the missile in a slender pillar of smoke, and then he looked over to her and waved.

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