Blood seizes what once was the purity of a pain-free childhood. 

A deep maroon spreads fast through happy memories and innocent love.

What once was bright and clear is now the darkest red. Contaminated. Polluted. Tainted.

Living in a country where the big scary men can ram down your doors and storm in with their huge guns.

It doesn’t matter who you are because they don’t care. 

They don’t care that the blood being spilled is that of a little boy. 

A boy who couldn’t have possibly done anything bad enough to deserve this. 

A boy who once dreamed of being a doctor but will never live to see the day. 

As blood pours from the top of his head he hears his mothers screams and sees his sister's tears. 

Tears that will forever be tainted by the sight of her own brother’s body, cold and limp on his bedroom floor.

She will grow old still living every second with the constant fear that what they did to him may happen to her. 

Watching her feet carefully as she walks in the streets so she doesn’t accidentally kick any rocks. 

For she fears that if the big scary men believe she is throwing rocks they will take her life too.

36. The number of children whose lives were taken at the hands of Israeli soldiers in just one year.

36 children who will never live to see the day when their country is freed from the occupation.

When soldiers won’t show up at their doorsteps with guns.

When soldiers won’t storm their holy mosques, brutally beating innocent people.

The Palestinian children would finally find peace.

500-700 of them won’t be arrested every year.

They won’t have to watch the blood of their siblings and parents being spilled.

And best of all they won’t live with the fear of being killed for throwing rocks.

They will go on and live a life without a tainted childhood.