Bokelskere.no

To look at the sky over our land was to see death diving at you -

Ten Thousand Bombs had dropped like marbles on the kitchen floor and my mother was still cooking. My father was still buried underground; only Christ had risen from the dead, so they say. I was no longer expecting my father to show up at the door, quietly, calmly walking into the kitchen, sitting at the table, waiting for my mother to serve him salad and thin bread. The dead do not come back.

A bomb fell in the next alley. I heard screams; a river of blood must be flowing now. I waited; the rule was to wait for the second bomb . Bombs landed in twos, like midwestern American tourists in Paris. The second bomb fell.