Samira

Something’s wrong. I’m on the ground, and I can’t move. People run. Chairs fly. Jackets left behind.

The sky flashes. Some try to cover the women, the children.

The able stand. Some carry loved ones, others bodies.

The sky flashes. More fall.

I’m cold. My body’s numb. I think I’ve shit myself.

Perspective shifts. I see Samira. My Samira. She’s looking down at me, clutching the uneaten maaledaa. There is confusion. Tears.

I tell her I love her. I hope she hears me.

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