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The Ring By Efcharis Roka

Updated: Feb 24

It was six months ago, when I met Najib. He and his family were staying in

Israel temporarily. I met him in the playground. Since then, we became best

friends and we were meeting every day after school. Sometimes, we were

meeting secretly because my father doesn’t like Palestinians.

Once, while we were playing in my backyard, I went inside the house to get

two bottles of water for me and Najib. Then, I heard mom talking to the phone

with someone.

- I try not to worry Adina. I know that War is coming, but I also watch the

news and many people are against it… No, I haven’t told Noah yet…

Anyway, I must hang up to cook. See you!

I went outside skeptical. Who is that Mr. War, and why people don’t like

him? Maybe he had done something wrong. So, I decided to ask my friend

about him.

- Do you know anything about Mr. War? I asked him while we were lying

on the grass.

- No. Actually, I’ve heard my parents talk about him, but very rarely, he

had answered me.

- My mom was talking to the phone with Adina, a friend of hers, and she

was really worried about him.

- Who knows… Hey, Noah, do you want to play Kingdoms?

We forgot about the mysterious War in a couple of minutes.


- Hey, mom, can you take me to the playground?

- No, sweetheart. War is here and we cannot wander outside like nothing

is happening!

- Who is that Mr. War, mom?

My mom just laughed, stroke me on the head and wiped out a tear before my

dad called her in the living room, to “see something out of the window”.


We are now running towards the bus that leaves from Erez and leads to

Lehavim. As dad told me earlier, “War is very close, Noah. We will take the bus

to Lehavim and your aunt Batel.” “But, dad, Lehavim is five hours away! And,

Mr. War can’t be such a cruel man to force us to move!” “Don’t talk and pick

up your things! The bus is leaving in 10 minutes!”

Mom pushes my head to look away from something. It’s no use, however, I

saw it. A kid. A kid that looks very much alike Najib. He has the same scar

next to his ear. No. The same ring on his last finger. NO. It can’t be.

I now shout, begging mom to let me take him with us, while slapping Najib

in the face. It’s no use, though, as he doesn’t wake up. Dad shouts to me to

leave. I take from his last finger his silver ring, now red because of this uniform

mass of blood around my friend. On the bus, I cry while cleaning the blood

from my friend’s ring. I see the black N on it.

“Look, Noah! Look what my dad gave me.”

“What is it, Najib?”

“This ring is passed from father to son through generations. Here, look. This

N is the initial of my family's last name.”

“It is wonderful! Wow… Hey, your ring can have magic powers in it! My

kingdom is in danger! Go, army, steal it from him!”

“Noooooo, we’ll fight back! Ha ha!”


I wake up in the bus, crying. My dream was very weird and nostalgic. I was

making a huge staircase to reach Najib who was resting on a cloud.

- No, Noah! Don’t come here, he had told me, frightened.

- You…. You forgot something, Najib.

- What?

- Your ring.


An amazing short story by Efcharis Roka
The Ring

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