Analysis
Ommetaphobia: The Gouged Eyed of Childhood
It was the first year of the occupation. In that atmosphere filled with the smoke of bombings and the fumes of fires, even the healthiest of eyes suffered. What, then, could be expected of eyes as delicate and susceptible as mine? Everything around me seemed to pave the way toward my impending blindness: the doctor's awkward questions and his clinic’s painful lighting, pollen dust mixed with toxic gases, the sharp blades of knives pointing at me at garage stalls and shops, the harsh sun and its searing rays piercing through layers of my eyes’ aching membranes, the suffocating military color palette wherever I turned... And, finally, there was the school fence, strangled by barbed wire much like our own lives were.