NorthernWings

Aaron Sajadi dashed through the bustling market centre of Kabul. Tightening his backpack, which contained his schoolbooks and binders, he ducked and weaved around vendors, livestock, and on occasion carts full of vegetables and fruits. He had to get home before the set curfew which the Soviet soldiers had placed on all civilians in the Capital city of Afghanistan. Such was the nature of the region in 1981, it was common for the streets to come alive with gunfire and blinding explosions of flash grenades and bombs. The aftermath of which was sometimes seen at dawn the next day; a bloodstain in the sand, casings of bullets scattered in the ar

Yar har har Fiddle dee dee I cant rhyme Watermelon