The Windows That Wept

Story: The Windows That Wept

The explosion shook the narrow alley like a thunderbolt at midnight. One by one, the windows of the government building and the surrounding houses came crashing down. Their own little house shook too; its windows shattered, scattering crystal fragments across the floor. Thick smoke rose, and the smell of burning gripped everyone's throat like an invisible hand.

The little girl screamed and ran into her father's arms. The cries of the neighbours' children mingled with their mothers' shouts. Dogs ran up and down the alley, howling in terror, while cats scrambled up the walls like frightened shadows. In the distance came the sirens of ambulances and fire engines: a long, relentless sound, as though pain itself were crying out.

Daughter:

Dad… why is everyone scared? Why did the windows break?

Father:

(He held her tighter.)

This is war weeping, my little girl. When people pick up guns instead of talking, houses fall and hearts break.

Daughter:

But doesn't war make heroes? Don't the victors always live on in books?

Father:

The victors have written history. But the truth has always lain buried among the nameless bones of people who had no part in those decisions. There is no heroism in the silenced voices of children. There is no victory to be found in burning homes.

The old man next door, struggling to find his way out through the smoke, added his coughing to their conversation. Mothers held their children and wept without stopping. A man held a wet cloth over his face as he searched for his mother.

Daughter:

Then why do they keep making war?

Father:

Because power, greed and hatred still blind us. Because we have yet to learn that a person lives only once. Slogans destroy lives, and afterwards they call it glory.

Daughter:

(Her voice trembling.)

Does that mean the world can never be without war?

Father:

It can… and some have managed it. Countries that understood their people's lives mattered more than any slogan. Switzerland, Japan, Finland, even somewhere like the Emirates… Instead of battlefields, they built schools and a life of well-being.

But we… we still poke a stick into a hornets' nest. And when we are stung, we only cry out in pain, without asking who put that stick there.

The little girl rested her head against her father's chest. The sirens were drawing closer; the smell of smoke grew stronger. Fear filled the alley like fog. Yet in her small heart, a bright thought flared:

Daughter:

I just want us to live. Without fear, without windows breaking.

Father:

And that is the greatest wish of all. If one day everyone understands that no flag stands higher than our humanity, no one will think of war again.

War is nothing but the folly of repeating old tragedies.

Outside, the dogs were still howling. The cats had disappeared, and the children clung to their mothers, their eyes red. Glass silently covered the ground, a mute witness to human cruelty.

But in the little girl's heart, a hope took root:

A day will come when windows break only from the rain,