It was a warm evening in Mosul, Iraq – nothing out the ordinary of the average 100 degree days.  The sun was setting while Qusay Hussein and his older brothers warmed up for their volleyball game.  Held on an outdoor court, boys cheered and yelled s they spiked the ball over the seven-foot net.

Hussein was confused as a car drove onto their court. He made eye contact with the driver who formed a smile on his face and laughed before pushing his hand on the horn. Beep. Beep. Beep. The game stopped.  Boom.

Qusay’s face was unrecognizable due to the severe shrapnel wounds; most thought he was near death and took him to the place where his body would be prepared for burial in the Islamic tradition. Someone said “in a half hour he will be dead, go help your other kids,” the doctor told his father after looking at Hussein’s head injuries in the local clinic.

He was put in a room with the dead patients – until his father demanded to have his body brought back to the house to clean before the burial.

“Father, I’m not dead. Please take me to the hospital,” was the only thing Hussein could manage to say with shrapnel lodged into his head.

“If we give him water, he will die,” Hussein heard the nurse say shortly after he awoke from a 12-day coma.

With tubes coming out of his stomach, the only option was to dab his lips with a wet cotton ball to quench his thirst.

Twelve days ago, 17-year-old Hussein watched a suicide bomber smile before he pressed down on the horn.  Twelve days ago, shrapnel was lodged into his head, millimeters from his brain.  Twelve days ago, sixteen people were killed on a volleyball court.

Although Hussein and his three older brothers were lucky to be alive, they did not escape unscathed.

His vision was gone. His nose was gone.  He was unrecognizable.