“Product of the War”
West Central Valley High School (Block 7)
Walking through this place, that I’m forced to call home, can be so dangerous. I see my friends, family, and so many strangers die every day. Sometimes you get so tired, just from watching everything around you. I never know where I can go to be safe. My mother always looks so worried about my brother and me; my dad got killed about a year ago. She is constantly trying to find a better place for us. We never stay in one place more than a few days, but there are a few places that we’ve stayed at several different times.
My name is Kirti; I’m told I can’t give out my last name, to keep me safe. I am twelve years old, and this is the tenth year of this war. My mother’s name is Kirtana and my brother’s is Madan. He is five years old. The war is almost everything we know. My mother has stayed strong for us. We no longer have a father. Madan and I were with our father when he was killed. All of a sudden, there was an intense knock on door, and three men blew violently into the kitchen. They started shouting very angrily and grabbed my father; they were like us, speaking our language, but they weren’t happy with him, at all. They yanked him out of the house, into the seat of war that was the street. My mother quickly grabbed my brother and me to assure we were out of jeopardy. We were running, frantic, like a herd of angry cattle. When we finally reached safety, we saw a bunch of American men; they seemed concerned, nothing like the stone faces on the men of our own kind. They almost seemed like they wanted to help us. My mother turned to me and ensured everything would be just fine, but I could see in her eyes that it was going to 3be the exact opposite. As we slowed down into a shaded area where they wouldn’t see us, my brother started to stray away from my mother and me. She hollered for him several times before he turned to come back. He said he saw something; it...