They see things. A rope lowers the dead girl from a destroyed structure. She makes a tiny swaying motion and then folds her legs beneath her on the debris before stopping.

Gunshots People and parts of people lay out in the open where the explosion or bullet captured them. They witness all the forms that violent death might take.

Bodies lay around on the streets, in the open sitting rooms of destroyed houses, and beneath the rubble. Sometimes so much concrete covers them that the Gunshots men can never reach them, and only at the end of the war will someone give them a dignified burial.

The men serving in the Gaza Civil Defence can’t turn a blind eye to any of this. Blocking out the odor is impossible. Their senses are on high alert. Instantaneous death can come from the heavens at any moment.

The Civil Defence ambulances don’t dare to venture out when fighting in areas like Shejaiya in the eastern part of Gaza City or Tal Al-Sultan near Rafah in the southern part of Gaza City gets as intense as it has been in the past few days.

Gunshots  Muhammed Al Mughayer, an official with the local Civil Defence, says, “Entering areas close to the Israeli occupation is dangerous, but we try to intervene to save lives and souls.”

When there’s a pause in the fighting, he and his men take advantage of it to retrieve the injured and the dead. Families constantly inquire about missing relatives. Mr. Mughayer explains that identifying the deceased is challenging. “Some of them haven’t been identified due to complete decomposition.”

Stray animals scavenge on the dead bodies, ripping off clothing and scattering papers that could identify them.

The ambulance workers face a shortage of fuel. Two days ago, when one ambulance broke down near Tal Al-Sultan and needed towing, the workers experienced nerve-wracking tension. Mr. Mughayer claims that the risk of Israeli forces shooting makes it frequently impossible to rescue severely injured persons.

Currently, a report mentions a wounded individual near the Al-Salihin Mosque two days ago, but delays in coordination prevent contact. The outcome could be their death.

People fleeing Gaza City and surrounding neighborhoods, like Shejaiya, continue to make their way out. Many have relocated more than once.

They see the world devoid of any laws or regulations. World leaders express alarm, but no one comes to save them. The most distressing realization for these individuals is that they could die at any moment.

Arif Abu Shanab stands near the remains of his family house in Shejaiya with a look of confusion and anguish.

“My house had four floors, and I can’t enter it,” he says. “I can’t extract anything from it, not even a can of tuna. We have no food or drink now. Bulldozers destroyed all the houses, and it’s not our responsibility. Why do they hold us responsible for others’ actions? What did we do? We are citizens. Look at the devastation around you and ask, ‘Where do we go, and to whom?’ We are out in the streets with nowhere to live or anything else; where do we go? The only solution is to hit us with a nuclear bomb and provide us with relief from this life.”

Occasionally, brief periods of relief occur. When the but Al-Fayoumi family arrived near Deir Al Balah in the middle region of Gaza, they felt glad to have fled Gaza City. Responding to a warning from the Israel Defence Forces earlier this week, thousands of Palestinians took to the road heading south.

On the road south of Gaza City, members of the Al-Fayoumi family hug each other. After escaping Gaza City, family members embrace one another.

On the asphalt road, where there was no shade,beacuse family members reunite with those who went ahead. The intense heat was boiling. They provided water and soft drinks to theGunshots newly arrived guests.Gunshots A young child, after suckingGunshots from a juice carton, squeezed it with all his effort to extract the remaining drops.

Everyone didn’t take their survival for granted. Seeing everyone alive and gathered in the same location brought smiles and cries of joy. A small niece reached into the vehicle to hug her aunt. The child smiled for the first time and then cried while turning her head.

Tomorrow, next week, and next month, they can’t predict where they will be. The outcome depends on the next fighting location, the next Israeli evacuation order, the mediators, and whether Hamas and Israel reach a truce agreement.

These lines could have been written at any time over the past few months. But Civilians die. It’s time to hit the roads. Food is needed. Hospitals struggle. Calls for a halt to the fighting continue.

Since February, we have followed the tale of Nawara al-Najjar, whose husband Abed-Alrahman was one of more than seventy individuals who died during an Israeli forces operation in Rafah to rescue two captives.

Gunshots and shrapnel tore through their tented camp in Khan Younis, nine kilometers (six miles) north, causing them to flee closer to Rafah.

A family photograph shows Abed-Alrahman (on the left) and Nawara al-Najjar (third from the right) with their children.Gunshots