A year ago, Israel buried me alive. I’m still clawing my way out by Mohammed R Mhawish

55. What happened was like nothing I had ever heard — a tearing, howling explosion that collapsed everything in milliseconds. I didn’t see the ceiling crack or the walls crumble. I only felt the sudden, crushing weight as the world above came down. It wasn’t like falling, but like being smothered into the earth. My body folded awkwardly beneath the debris — arms pinned, legs trapped, ribs crushing against sharp edges.
57. I tried to scream, but the noise came out as a rasp, a pathetic, choking gasp swallowed by the dark. My chest burned from the effort, but I screamed again anyway — calling out for my wife, my three-year-old son, my parents. Their names ricocheted inside my skull as both the layers of cement and silence pressed in harder.