Sarah Ghazal Kaliqi is 12 years old and lives in Guilderland, NY.

It was a cloudy and very foggy day and my father wasn’t feeling so good. My mother asked me to go to the bread store and get some bread. I didn’t really want to go. I’d rather stay home with my brother. Don’t get me wrong, I love going to the bread store but today I had a bad feeling. My brother wanted to tag along with me but my mother refused. Soon she called me and handed me a clean cloth and some money. Then she kissed me and went over all the rules on how not to talk to strangers. Then she kissed me one more time. I asked her whey she had done that and she replied, “No reason. I just felt like it. Now remember to come straight home. Ok, go now.”

I walked out our door. I took two steps then stopped and looked back. I could see my mother peeking through the crack of our door. I blew her a kiss and even though I couldn’t see much of her, only her eyes, I knew she was smiling and blowing me back a kiss. I started walking towards the bread store. Actually it was more like sprinting. I didn’t want to be late because if I was then there wouldn’t be any bread left. Also, there would be a long line and it would take hours and hours. Besides, my father, who was ill, was very hungry. I knew my brother was hungry too, basically everyone in my family was, everyone except my two-month-old sister. She is only allowed to have milk so she can drink whenever she wants. The rest of us have to suffer. I was thinking and walking at the same time and I was so lost in my thoughts that I accidentally walked into an old man with a beard.

“Hey! You girl!” he screamed

He thought I was trying to cut in front of him. What did he think I was? Some disrespectful girl? In my family, respect towards others was a very important thing, even if it was to a stranger. My father always told me I should treat others the way I wanted to be treated. I was so disappointed at what that man said to me that I had not noticed that it was my turn. I noticed that the baker had not asked me how many loaves of bread I wanted. He usually asked. Then I realized that he probably ran out of bread. I had seen it happen before, once to an old man and his six children. They had to beg, but still they went home empty handed. I thought that now I would have to go home empty handed too, and I would watch my family starve. Finally the man asked me in a shaky voice, “How many, um, do you want?”

“Five please.”

“Well, I’m sorry I do not have that many.”

“Well, three would be fine.”

“No, I am sorry.”

“Two would be ok,” I said in a squeaky voice.

“Sorry. Um, we only have one and…”

“That’s ok! I can take one.”

“Well let me finish. My family and I need something to eat. I am sorry.”

I was shocked. I did not know what to do. I asked the man one more time, “Please! My father is ill and the rest of my family have been waiting.”

The man just ignored me like I was invisible and at that moment I wished I was. I started walking home. Finally when I came to the last turn, I went slowly, wondering what my family would say when I returned empty handed. As I got closer to my house, I saw a crowd by a field with smoke. At first I thought I made a wrong turn. But then I saw the field where my house used to be. I called out to my mother, to my father, but there was no trace of them. My house had been bombed. I did not feel sad. I felt nothing. I did not know why, but after a split second I felt pain. I was left with tears and I went crazy, tears pouring and pouring. I screamed for my mother but she did not answer me. I found her scarf. I screamed for my father, he did not answer, but I found what was left of his notebook. I screamed my brother’s name, he did not answer. But I did find his toy truck. I yelled for my baby sister. No answer, but there was her pacifier.

It was hopeless. They were gone. Everything was gone. I ran and ran. I had no idea where I was going. The cold wind tore at my face. It grabbed at my scarf and flew it over me, in the air. My torn scarf, with the colors so beautifully made, black, red and green. My scarf slowly flew off. I chased after it in the wind. It fell on a cold, hard, gray rock and a hard voice came from underneath it.

The voice was the voice of my motherland.

The voice was the voice of my home.

The voice was the voice of my country.

“Don’t leave me, please. Everyone else is leaving, but you, you are the one who can keep me alive.”

“I promise I won’t leave you,” I sobbed. “How could I leave all of this behind? How could I leave my home, my destiny, my beautiful, beautiful country? I could never leave you for anything. You are broken today, but I will fix you tomorrow.”

I walked back to the site where my house used to be. I took a piece of wood from my broken door and tied it into the end of my scarf. I held it in the air and said, “I promise, I will keep your flag high and proud.”

I promise.

I promise.