The window was shattered, broken and unfixable, like my heart. Unable to see past the dull bluey-gray of the glass only held together by the thin grid of fencing. My house, my home, my haven, obliterated into millions of pieces, destroyed but no where near to the extent of the spirit of the people of my village. The children, mothers, fathers huddled together grasping on to what little life that remained. the bombs had come without warning. We had planned to flee the only country I knew, Syria the next day, but a day too late. The little hole that filtered the little sunlight into the room was the only sight we had of what remained outside, but we were all too scared to move. The room filled with a deafening silence that rang throughout everyone's ears, almost worse than the sound of the piercing blasts of the bombs dropped by the Americans that