Meeting Jonathan

The whole building shook as the enemy's bomb landed and exploded.

"Boom! Boom!"

The once sturdy building now crumbled.

"Boom! Boom!" "Boom! Boom!" A series of explosions left only scattered debris, and dust filled the air.

After a while, the dust settled. A boy, covered in ash, hid beneath a half-crushed car, trembling in fear with closed eyes and a look of horror.

A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek. He cautiously opened his eyes, saw no immediate danger, and slowly crawled out from under the damaged car, amazed that it had withstood the impact of a large concrete block from the collapsing building.

He breathed a sigh of relief, but the respite was brief. Another explosion nearby jolted him with a renewed sense of peril. His eyes darted around, searching for an escape route. In a panicked frenzy, he sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him until he reached a crossroads with four different paths.

Desperation pushed him forward, and he spotted an already half-destroyed building. Making a split-second decision, he dashed inside a bar and took refuge under a sturdy wooden table.

The war had erupted two weeks ago; his parents fell victim to the first wave of bombings, followed by his older brother in the second onslaught. Now, orphaned and alone, the boy fled like countless others, struggling to survive in the midst of the bloody conflict. He had sustained himself with canned goods and sealed water bottles scavenged from abandoned stores, but now, with no supplies left, hunger and thirst gnawed at him.

His only known ally, his friend Johnathon, got separated three days ago under unforeseen circumstances. Desperate to reunite, the boy scoured the war-torn landscape in search of his companion.

The neighboring nation, Iraqistine, had declared war, driven by the pursuit of oil and manpower. Unbeknownst to the public, their sinister intentions extended to enslaving the citizens of the boy's nation.

Suddenly, a deafening explosion echoed— "Boom!!" A missile from an enemy tank landed on a nearby building, the shockwave shattering the bar's windows. In an instant, the boy noticed enemy soldiers advancing toward the bar. Reacting quickly, he abandoned his hiding spot under the table and sprinted behind the counter, desperately concealing himself.

As the doorbell rang and the soldiers entered, the boy's heart pounded. He prayed for a swift departure, but his prayers went unanswered. Another unexpected twist unfolded when a strong hand seized his neck from behind, causing him to groan in pain.

"Agg!"

"Hey, Amir, look, I've got a hiding rat."

"What? Is there really someone still alive here? He must be lucky to survive till now, but now that he's met us, his luck ends here."

"Hahaha, you're right. Now that fate has led him to us, his luck ends here."

"Yeah, yeah, quit with the nonsense. Finish him quickly and report back. If we waste more time, the captain will scold us."

"Oh, right! Let's quickly deal with—Agggh, this bastard!"

Before the soldier could complete his sentence, the boy bit the hand gripping his neck, prompting the soldier to release his hold. Seizing the opportunity, the boy dashed toward a nearby window and leaped out.

"Use pakro!" the soldier shouted in Urdu as the boy made his daring escape.

The boy's every step seemed choreographed as he melted into the obscurity of the shadowed alley, executing a balletic right turn before seamlessly transitioning onto another path. His movements betrayed a rehearsed grace, a dance born out of survival instincts and a profound understanding of the urban labyrinth he found himself navigating.

Then, as if scripted by the chaos of war itself, an ominous "Boom!" thundered through the air. The resonance of the explosion pursued him like a relentless ghost, a constant reminder of the danger hot on his heels. The world around him quivered, and in the midst of the tumult, a motorcycle materialized with a disconcerting efficiency. Soldiers, an extension of the machine's mechanical precision, dismounted with synchronized movements, effectively barricading potential escape routes.

A soldier lunged at the boy, aiming to ensnare him in the iron grip of authority. But like a wraith, the boy sidestepped with nimble finesse, delivering a precisely aimed kick to the back of the soldier's knee. The assailant crumpled, meeting the unforgiving ground with an undignified thud. Infuriated, his companion surged forward, delivering a powerful kick that sent the boy sprawling. Undeterred, he rebounded with almost preternatural agility, sprinting in the opposite direction.

The chase led him to a sudden halt as he reached a turn, foreseeing an inevitable confrontation. The soldier, expecting to gain the upper hand at the turn, was instead taken aback as the boy surged forward, a deft push sending the soldier crashing to the ground. The boy pressed on, scaling a wall with the same fluidity that had marked his earlier maneuvers.

However, the ominous echo of another explosion ("boom") disrupted his ascent, causing him to tumble back to the unforgiving ground. Shrapnel danced perilously close, leaving him rubbing a throbbing back as he regained his feet.

Amidst the chaotic aftermath, a voice sliced through the smoke. Gradually intensifying, it called out his name, beckoning him forward. Warily captivated, he navigated through the haze toward the source.

As the voice crystallized, its familiarity became irrefutable. Suddenly, emerging from the dissipating smoke, a robust-looking figure materialized – Jonathan.

"Jonathan!"

"Hehe, how've you been? Rough, isn't it?" Jonathan grinned with a cheeky flair, a paradoxical expression considering the turmoil surrounding them.

"Oh my stars, did you orchestrate all those explosions? How?"

"I made some new friends. Come, let me introduce you." Jonathan's words hung in the air, a curious mix of camaraderie and enigma, inviting the boy to unravel the mysteries that had unfolded in his absence.