The Visitors

The visitors A knock on my entrance door, I opened up and seven people came in one of them looked at me like she should be in love, perhaps she remembered me 40 years back in time. The house had been rebuilt the steps leading up to the second floor were outside the girl when they marched out kissed my hand and I thought: am I a pope now? She looked like the Palestinian girl – unarmed- had been shot by a female sniper who did this foul deed in the name of her country she had been told Palestinians were out to kill them, the female shooter was defending her blood dripping country. I knew the six others too one was my brother the other my sister and the rest old friends but none of them recognised me. The ladder up to the second landing was long I saw them disappearing into a cloud closed my door I was suddenly cold, went in and sat by the fire.