Introduction

I am neither the victim nor the heroine of this story. I am merely the teller. The events that happened have been seeping out of me over the past seven decades, like water in a tea kettle that begins with a soft hiss as it slow boils, then rapidly increases in intense bubbles until the low whistle erupts into a scream.

* * *

I have this recurring dream throughout my adult life that started in my childhood.
The sun is so high in the sky that it is blinding. Everything around me looks whitewashed and hazy. The ground I am standing on is light beige, the color of sand on a hot beach day. The pallid high cement wall behind us blends into the ground. The air almost seems electric as it makes rippled lines that zigzag and crackle. I struggle to keep my eyes open.
The line of men in front of me are wearing camouflage uniforms in faded khaki.
My mother, my little sister, and I stand huddled before them when the commander calls them to attention.
“Ready,” he shouts. The soldiers raise their weapons.
“Set,” he continues. We can hear the sound of metal catches being released in unison.
Before he can complete his mission, my mother forcefully pushes my sister and me forward. Then quickly crouches down on the ground behind us.
“Fire!”