All Around Amina

An alliterative prose and digital illustration exploring the genderless reality of trauma.

All around Amina,
Brittle bones broke. 
She saw cartilages crushed cruelly; War, she realized, was wickedness wrought. 
Terror tore through throats.

Then, suddenly, a sharp silence.
Sermons, speeches, sanctimonious sayings of let us be patient.
Amina alive, but barely.
Checked clothes, curtains, fabrics, currently coated crimson.
Darkness draped over doors.
It was over.

Peace, present finally, after pressure, pleas, and prayers.
Exhausted exhalations escaped her lips.

Battles, she had been told, were for brave boys.
But.
She stared upwards, saw shadowed skies. Small stars.
She realized saving her family, saving herself, was a process that didn’t ask:

What is your gender?