Maras, 21, awoke yesterday morning at 6:00 a.m. to the sound of bombs falling on his neighborhood.
In his world, the Bab Amro neighborhood of Homs in central Syria, this was not the part of his day that shocked him most. This was how it had been for the past six days, he said, bursts of gunfire and shelling booming through the streets every half hour or so in the night, then picking up into a steady stream around dawn that lasted through the day. He ran out into the street, trying to reach the source to drag out the wounded, but was turned back by the strength of the gunfire, raining down from roofs outside the neighborhood. Later in the day, he went to help evacuate families from buildings in the hardest-hit sections of Bab Amro. This was the scene he couldn’t get out of his head—not of the children who cried as they left those buildings, which was normal, but of the ones who had stopped crying, too stunned to make any sound at all.
And yet, the bombs continue to fall.