"Don't shoot!" I said, but he did. I shouldn't have jerked
my hand like that. He looked more scared than I was.
Suddenly I was lying down, I think, and I was holding my
brains in my right hand. "I'm dying! I'm dying!" I shouted
but couldn't hear myself shout which was FUCKING WEIRD. He
moved to the next room, where my little brother was hiding
and weeping like a girl. They wouldn't kill the boy, I knew,
but what about me? I would be dead, like, real soon. My
brother, my poor brother. Who is going to take care of him
now?

I brought my hand before my eyes, so I could see my own
brains. Here's what I saw. (Please believe me, I am not
making this up. Why should I?)

There were roots coming out of my hand, reaching for the
ceiling. Who would have guessed? There were ancient trees
growing on top of our house, the house that the soldiers
would soon bulldoze to dust. I realized that a tree was
drawing nourishment from me, through my split skull, from my
brains, my body, my self. Earthworms were falling from the
ceiling/ground, dropping onto our table, into my coffee cup,
crawling in and out of the cracked TV. It smelled like an
orchard, and I suddenly knew: the tree was in bloom.

The soldier came back from the bedroom, talking into a
radio, dragging my silently screaming brother by the wrist.
As they left my home, white flowers fell on them from above,
like snow in Jerusalem. The soldier turned and looked at me
in terror. My brother was smiling, blossoms in his gorgeous
hair. My revenge was complete. I think I died, but I'm not
sure. I may have turned into an earthworm. All I know is
that there is moist, cold soil all around me.