Isabelle McEwen

Just now, eleven bodies arrived at the hospital.
Six of them were children.
None of them could be identified. An entire family wiped out.

We labeled their lifeless bodies: Unknown 1, Unknown 2… all the way to Unknown 11.
No names. No stories. No one left to say who they were.

That’s it. Just Unknown.
And that’s how this war continues, stealing names, faces, families.
Until nothing is left but numbers.

“ My phone battery is at 2%, and when I thought about who to call, I thought of you. I’m sure I’m going to die, my friend. This might be our last call. Since morning, I’ve been searching for a sip of water, but I can’t find any. My friend, here everything leads to death. They’ve killed more than 50 people right in front of me. I escaped from them by a miracle, surviving a massacre where more than 27 people, 27 souls, were martyred. People here die and are left on the streets. You look at them and keep walking, as if they were just stones. I sleep on the streets; I have no one. I live alone, without my family. My phone is about to die. I want you to know that I love you and forgive me if I’ve ever wronged you. ”
Mustafa, North Gaza 11.11 2024