Too quiet, I thought.

Palestine used to throw something at me, and wouldn't miss the chance Christmas time implied, when everybody let down their guard. I waited for a missile, or something smaller, like a series of stabbings in the streets or rock throwing at the heads of my soldiers.

But I didn't hear from her in weeks.

That was starting to worry me. Something had to be keeping her busy and I wasn't sure I wanted to know what it was. My bosses also considered it could be the prelude to a bigger attack and put our troops on guard. What are you plotting, I asked myself. Only the One World Nation Movement matter, which America told me about, distracted me from it. What are you plotting.

It was then, in New Year's Eve, when I found the note inside of my mailbox, written in Arab. A whole sheet of paper for just one word.

'Run'.

How could I obey such a vague warning? I kept the paper because I could use it to write on it, but I didn't give it much importance.

Not until they called me to tell me I had to leave whatever I was doing and follow the generals who would take me to an helicopter that would take me to a safe place, because the wall had fallen. Not the Palestine side, as I believed. In our side, they had used everything they had to open a gap. And when people from both sides met, they fused in one.

And attacked both of us.