A Holiday to Remember

Eid.
It is a joyous occasion; new clothes, henna, family gatherings, Meyla (carnivals), and three-day-long celebration. Like all other children, I always looked forward to Eid days. We had a small house with a big yard in Khoosh-haal Khan. When my cousins visited, we had so much fun playing games and tending to the herd of chickens we had.
My paternal grandmother lived with us which meant, my dad's side of the family would gather at our house the first day of Eid. I and my sisters (8, 6, and 3 respectively) were disappointed when only my aunt and uncles came and none of my cousins.
It was mid-afternoon and as our guests are getting ready to leave, a rocket hit our neighborhood. After hearing the noise repeatedly, you learn to distinguish between a bomb and a rocket and if the target was a house or open land, and how far from you. This one definitely hit close by, maybe four or five houses down, the house crumbled but there were minimal screams.
Of course, we all ran inside to take shelter. You always wait a few minutes before going outside. (It was common practice for Mujahideen to hit the same target twice within a few minutes. That way they could kill the rescuers rushing in to help.)
My dad and uncle went out to help, as the kids stayed with the safer part of the hideout and women dared to step outside to the yard. They were on a mission. They were listening to the noise of rockets hitting farther and farther targets keeping track of time spacing between hits. I don't know how long we were hiding when my dad and uncle returned all covered in dust and dirt. I gathered from their conversations that most of our neighbors have already evacuated their homes because of rumors of attacks. There were no casualties at the neighbor's house since it was empty.
My aunt started crying hysterically saying she wouldn't leave her mother and brother and his family in this corner of town and leave to go home, she lived in Macrorayan. As we still hear the noise of rockets hitting in the far distance, the decision was made to leave home and go to my aunt's house. Our house was about a mile away from the main road where we could catch bus lines (if still running) or a taxi. According to my mom and aunt's calculations, if we run, we should make it to the main road in under 10 minutes. Soon enough we were on the run. My mom was holding mine and my sister's hands, my dad was holding my 3 years old sister, my aunt (in her tight skirt and high heels) was helping my grandmother (who had suffered a stroke a couple of months ago and had difficulty walking) and my uncles were around us somewhere. The road was covered with gravel and there were shallow runnels along the walls coming out of many houses. It was hard to run on the gravel or by the walls while avoiding losing your shoe to runnels. As we got close to the road, the noise of rockets hitting targets got clearer. The last few yards of the road were plain fields and that was when I heard my uncle screaming "get down".
From the sound of it, I could tell the rocket hit very close and it was open ground, not a building. I lift my head enough to see the smoke rising a few yards down from us on the right side. I don't remember how we made it to the main road, but I will never forget the look on my sisters' faces.
Next was to catch a taxi. A little geographical background; on the other side of this main road is a hill covered by houses. This main road has a regular bus line, electric bus line, and taxis. At this point, electric buses are out of order, regular buses run every half an hour, leaving taxis as the main escape vehicle. Every taxi that we reach for is taken by bleeding, injured and almost dead victims to be taken to a hospital. Taxis are rushing in to help, but there isn't enough. We could still hear rockets hitting in farther areas. Finally, one taxi driver refused to take victims and insisted on saving the women, children, and elderly waiting on the side of the road for a way out. I remember him yelling at men who wanted the taxi for transporting victims " I need to take this group of kids and women out before they become victims like others." We all didn't fit in the cab and my dad and uncle had to stay back. My mother got out of the taxi and insisted on staying behind with my father and my aunt and uncle were to take us to their home. As our taxi made its way through the city, all I could see was abandoned carnival sites, kids and women running to take shelter, and men scurrying around. I remember a lot of dust, but not much noise.
Finally, we made it to Macrorayan. Our cousins were still in their new Eid clothes, all clean and crisp as they were playing outside. The look on their faces changed seeing us all dirty and whatever.
I remember it was still sunny outside when our wait began. There was no news about my mom and dad. I wanted the day to last longer. I didn't want the night to come before my parents were with us. There is something about the arrival of the night when you are waiting for your parents that make you restless. Darkness was getting deeper and we could no longer wait on the third-floor balcony of my aunt's apartment staring at the road and hoping for mom and dad's arrival. We started waiting behind the door, directly sitting by the door next to the shoe rack. No one talked as we sat there listening for the footsteps on the stairs outside the door. When my parents walked in, their clothes were covered in blood and their bodies in the dust. My grandmother was frantically checking their limbs, and while trying to speak in between her sobs. We were all relieved to know they were not injured, they were helping injured victims in the vehicles.
As my memory serves me, that was the last time we lived in our house in Khoosh-haal khan. That was a holiday to remember.
I am so exhausted from remembering this event that I don't want to proofread it before publishing. So my readers, please forgive my poor writing. You might have gotten used to it by now :-)