text: My nights are filled with sweet stories from my mom. I have always liked her series of stories involving shooting stars. She would tell me, "Shooting stars grant your wishes." and I'd reply with "I'll wish for my dreams to come true!" Despite my continuing obsession with them, I've actually never seen one, until today. Terrorist activity has become more and more frequent in our place. Gunshots would wake us up every morning, but as time flew by, we eventually got used to it. I'd cry every time in worry of the future, but my mom always calmed me down. "Wish upon a shooting star and you'll be fine sweetie.” she'd tell me. Tonight, as always, I was anticipating a shooting star. For what seemed like the 13th time I looked up at the night sky, I finally saw it. I was thrilled. Mesmerized. It was so beautiful, gliding in the deep, dark night. Its glow fills me with this warm feeling of hope. "I hope all of my dreams come true, and that me and my mama would never part." I wished. Then a big, loud boom engulfed our city. "Missiles! Missiles! We're getting fired by missiles!" people shouted. The shooting star I saw earlier moved closer and closer to me. It wasn't until the last second that I realized, that wasn't a shooting star at all. "Mama! Mama! Where are you!" I screamed as tears ran down to my cheek. It was chaos all over the city; I was running from place to place. I looked at it again. "Please grant me my wish! I beg you, please!" With all of what's happening - the running, the screams, the hopelessness, the dread - my mind spiraled down into incoherence. The glow that filled me with hope for all of my life is now also the glow filling me with despair. It brought to me words from the Bhagavad Gita: "Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds." I started to cry again, screaming all of my feelings, with all of my breath. War destroys the worlds and dreams of children like me. This is the unforgivable, harsh truth. Terrorism is death. As the shooting star - no - the missile came further and further down, moments of my thirteen years of life flashed before my eyes. Was it a life worth living? Was it worthwhile? ... I saw my mom. She was in her usual place, beside the window, reading a book. She called out to me. "Do you want to hear the story about shooting stars sweetie?" " "Yes please!" It was a familiar memory - it was the first time I've heard my favorite story. It was the first time I was filled with glittering hope. Its brightness woke me up from my slumber. It was getting very close, and I could feel my imminent death. Shooting star or missile, for a kid like me, in this situation, they are one and the same. Closer, and closer, and closer. As it's heat filled my entire body, my emotions hit me, and I wished to it for one last time. "Please don't let me die. I don't want to die! Wish upon a shooting star and I'll be fine right? Mom, we'll be fine right? I don't want to die. I don't want thi-".