I stood in the midst of the decaying rubble, surveying the scene in front of me. The wind rustled through the shredded, blackened bits of construction before reaching up and twirling my hair. I involuntarily shuddered, but the reaction had nothing to do with the chill wind. The silence pressed up against my ears as I closed my eyes and tilted my head up, memories from 16 years ago flashing under my eyelids.

I remembered everything as if it was yesterday, a nightmare I could never escape. Fire. Suffocation. Sickly sweet smells mixed with the scent of death. Bodies scattered randomly, as if they suddenly became paralyzed and had dropped down where they fell, never to move again. I shivered again before opening my eyes and starting to walk.

♦ ♦ ♦

It had been a normal day. My 11-year-old self had been helping my mother make lunch while my father was telling my younger sister a story and the 4-year-old child giggled with glee. My older brother, 16 at the time, was out in the back cutting wood. Suddenly, the air was thick with fear. He was the first one to notice what was happening and he burst in to warn us.

"Everyone get to the shelter! They're attacking!" There was a moment of hesitation and sheer panic and then all at once, everyone sprang into action. My brother grabbed my mother and me, and gestured at my father. I remember my sister's expression as she stared quizzically at my panicked brother, her mouth in the shape of an "o." I was just as confused. Who was attacking? What reason did they have to attack?

"Quick! Get to the shelter without being seen! I'll bring the supplies," ordered my father.

I picked up my sister and ran out after my mother. As we frantically filed into the bomb shelter in the backyard, my father appeared with makeshift gas masks, blankets, and water in a closed container. I saw the ominous, black airplanes in the sky heading towards our village and my throat constricted with irrational fear before my head disappeared through the entrance of the shelter.

We sat huddled in the back, my mother pulling me and my siblings close. We only had the faint light of a few candles, the sun shut out by the closed trapdoor. It wasn't long before we started smelling something sweet and strangely similar to apple that made my eyes water.

"That's the poisonous gas. Cover your mouth and try not to breathe in too much," said my mother.

I nodded and complied without question. My usually curious self had been quieted by the tangible sense of urgency clouding the air. That was when a jarring crash shook the ground and screams filled the air outside. I looked to my mother, eyes wide, but her expression held no reassurance - it only mirrored mine.

"Chemical bombs..." she murmured.

More deadly gas poured in, making it almost impossible to breathe. I felt myself getting light-headed.

My father got up as if in a trance. "I have to see if I can help." As soon as he talked, the gas filled his lungs and his body shook with coughs. He made his way to the stairs in front of the opening despite our frantic protests. He never came back.

♦ ♦ ♦

It had been two hours since my father disappeared and my mother had gone quiet. She suddenly got up and moved to the entrance as we stared after her in quiet panic, unable to say a word without gagging. I tried to grab at her arm but she pulled away. As soon as she fully stepped out, we heard her blood curdling scream filled with distress, disbelief, and pain. A dull, sickening thud followed and all was silent. She never came back.

At this point, I was shaking and my throat and nose felt like a scorching desert. The chemicals had numbed my feelings and I couldn't process anything about my parents' deaths. I didn't know long it had been since my little sister had stopped breathing.

My brother moved closer. "Listen. It's just us now." He struggled to speak without gagging and paused before continuing. "We can't go outside no matter what, okay? Don't move that gas mask."

I nodded and quietly pressed up against him and held the makeshift mask closer against my face.

A couple hours later, it became impossible to move, think, or see. So we stared uncomprehendingly and without emotion at the wall across from where we huddled. Sleep betrayed me and my stomach felt the dull ache of hunger more than a few times throughout the hours. The water was tainted with poison, forcing us to bear extreme thirst as well.

♦ ♦ ♦

A day later, or maybe two, we were found. The abused toys of Saddam Hussein and the war. We were immediately taken to a hospital and given intensive care and discovered that my brother couldn't be saved. His organs had received too much damage by the gases and he too parted me a couple days later. My world came crashing down.

I was alone in the world with nothing from my home, only mental and physical scars. Iraq burned my village to the ground two days after the chemical attack. I didn't understand why we had been targeted, but by the time I turned 13, I realized it was because I was a Kurd. Because of something I couldn't change. I never cried since the attack. Nothing afterwards could compete with the emotional and physical pain of that fateful day. Just thinking about it numbed my emotions.

♦ ♦ ♦

The memories washed over me as I walked through the remains of my village, 16 years later. Nothing but the skeleton of the once warm and beautiful town lay here. The faint, eerie echoes of playing children serenaded me through the streets and I quietly stepped through the ghost town, searching.

Finally, I stopped in front of the ruins that used to be my childhood home. I felt a dull stab of emotion. I could almost hear my sister's laughter and my mother's warm, calming voice in the wind. The roof lay in the courtyard, a decaying tree strewn across it. I carefully stepped across the wreckage, examining it until something caught my eye.

Something small and gold was sparkling from under a piece of wood. I stared at it for a minute in confusion and leaned closer until recognition caused my eyes to widen. A necklace-a locket-shimmered in the sunlight. I'd know that locket anywhere. It was the same locket that my mother had worn every day and her mother before her had worn until her daughter's marriage. My mother had promised to hand it down to me at my wedding.

And now it was here, such a precious thing, in the midst of trash and death. I felt something inside me crack. I gently picked it up and watched in twirl in the air. At the end of the delicate gold chain was an intricately carved golden heart that opened to a picture of me, my parents, and siblings on one side, and my mother's parents on the other. It was fairly dusty but the pure gold had retained its color. I had finally found one thing to hold on to. One invaluable thing that tied me to my family and tied me back to who I used to be...before the world came crashing down.

I took a shaky breath as I pressed the locket to my heart. And the tears fell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Hussein's campaign in Kurdistan was an atrocious genocide of the Kurds by chemical attacks and mass disappearances towards the end of the Iran-Iraq War. Of the multiple attacks issued by Iraq's president, Saddam Hussein, the attack on the town of Halabja was the worst.

This story is based on real events of this time but the story itself and the characters are purely fictional. This was written for an English project relating to genocides. Thank you for taking the time to read this! Feel free to leave comments on how it could be better.