Stolen

Stolen He used to write to her, doing pen pal letters in his spare time, when not on duty. She replied back in-between marking her students' work. Nothing special, you understand, it’s good to be friends and have fun. Over a year’s worth of letters sent both ways, something young people do. Talking about music and films and their lives. He was Israeli, a soldier and Christian, she was Palestinian, a teacher and Muslim. A year separated them. Out of the blue they came and took him from his homeland, to her land, but he wasn’t destined to meet her. They took his colleagues, too, and killed a lot more. Her letters went unanswered. She received one of his sent before all of this. His side retaliated as they had to do; after all, they had to be seen as strong by one-and-all. Over one month of attacks to free their boys, we’ll show them, no-one will be spared. True to their word, so many died by their firepower, wrecking a country with little done in return. He remained a prisoner, her photo hidden in his wallet. She wrote letter-after-letter, all unanswered. She cried at his silence, missed his words and talking. Why can’t our countries talk instead of having this stupid war? They took my friend and started all of this. If only they would talk and not fight. How stupid they are! Bring my friend back to his people, I want his letters, to meet him! We’ve never met due to the border, a line made by politicians. We are not so different, could this be love, stolen by war?