Being only around 1 ½ inch long and 8 mm thick, it had managed to obstruct perpetually an innocent child’s dream of becoming a superman. Lodged in his young heart confused at the reducing beats as it was accustomed to the frenzied ones usually coming from the euphoric playtime, the bullet was slowly, stealthily stealing the glory of future. 

  As was the little one’s tendency, he frantically attempted to reach his mother and in a bewildering first, his muscles wouldn't agree nor would his throat which had caged his wails from everyone except his mother, whose dying heart could still, not miraculously, feel the deafening cries of her child. And so she began what would be the last of her many struggles- the struggle to listen to her child that last time. 

  She was quite far, but she knew beyond doubt, that her son was speaking to her. She could see his thoughts right through the heavy mist of his closing eyes, his pain stabbing her heart more intensely than the metal pieces. 

  He said “ It will dawn, Ma. One day, from a hopefully near future, will pride itself on a new time, a time which has risen above today’s vice”. The mother inched closer,dragging her dead limbs solely with the will to listen to these words arising from the deepest part of her son’s heart, deeper than the reach of the bullet.

  “In that time, Every carousel will be open for all my friends, even for that boy without amma and papa”, he continued. “No classroom will suffer from the absence of any person just because of the way they look, the clothes they wear or the name they choose to address God when praying for that shopkeeper to fall asleep,leaving all candy for children. All the world leaders from my lesson will fight peacefully only to bring all of us closer so that my Israeli friend will finally be able to count the marbles of her Palestinian friend from that border tent and decide who had to pay for the tempting chocolates they had seen.” 

His mother prayed fervently for such time to grace the horizon soon, if possible, sooner than they would depart to the unseen side of it. His innocence again spoke “ The destructive weapons will never be brought out of my PlayStation and our homes, our stories will never be lost to the world of reminiscence. And we wouldn’t have to bear this pain umi, this pain that I wish you could reduce with your magical hug”. 

Little did he know that his desire was reciprocated by his mother’s ardent want to hold him close and listen to his heartbeat before it all falls silent. 

  And with this yearning, the mother pushed her now collapsing limits, just the way she did when she was a little more full of life. She saw the sun rays caressing his forehead, the gold glistening like a halo over his face covered with sweat, blood and tears she couldn't wipe. She saw the earth kissing him and she knew that she had to hold him, caress him and kiss him too, right where it hurt him the most, even if it meant hauling her bleeding body through the shrapnel that wasn't content with destruction just yet. The strength coursing through her, fueled by the voiceless, breathless whispers of her child, would put Hercules to shame.

  The child whispered “ Mama, when that time will come, everyone will have a home and then their toys wouldn’t be lost by continuous shifting ,through dangerous mountains and thunderously roaring waters notorious for kidnapping naughty people as my Syrian friend told me . Also, their feet wouldn’t be blistered, their muscles never sore and then they’d play with me late into the evening, until you’d call us for eating delicious samosas. And in every home, such scrumptious treats would entice children into pausing their games, with no one going hungry. I may not know how it feels to starve, mommy, but it must be similar to this growing hurt in my body and hence, I pray no one goes without food and water.” 

  By now, the mother herself was in excruciating pain. Maybe the reason behind it are the metal remnants of weaponry finding home, strangely, in an innocent’s body but there was more than a slight chance that it were the tears on her son’s serene face that knifed through her soul. But knowing the only path towards peace for them was to give him her magical hug, she dragged herself through inches magnified hundreds of times for her lacerated flesh. But her agony vanished when, finally, her child touched her bleeding yet comforting palm, his lifeless lips smiling in anticipation of that magical hug. 

  And he resumed. “ Madre, the beautiful sun of that novel time won’t be the only source of warmth. Everyone will radiate a resplendent glow, even the uncle who scolds us each time our ball, by honest mistake, lands in his yard. The only fire burning shall be that of intense passion to succeed. The only war shall be for the TV remote. The only explosions shall be for Diwali, Eid, Christmas and all other festivals i’ll learn on making new friends. It would be a time of peace, happiness and contentment. It will be delightful, that tomorrow”. 

By Now, the mother had cocooned her son in the undying warmth of a mother’s embrace and just as their dying hearts beat together for one last time, she heard her son request “ Wake me up in that tomorrow, mother, wake me up”.