It was a sunny afternoon in Marrakech and she was out walking with her boy. They thought they were alone but no, oh no, they weren’t. Because they were being watched, you see. Watched closely. In case they made one false step. In case they made one wrong move……
And there they were -- she and her boy -- oblivious. Oblivious of what would soon befall them. Or, more precisely, what would soon befall her. Because it was she they wanted. She was their target. She was their victim of choice.
And so it was that one minute they were laughing and talking. About school. About friendships. About solar eclipses. And then, she heard them....heard them coming….
She yelled to her boy to run, RUN, fast, oh faster, PLEASE GOD faster. And she ran, too, dropping her jacket, dropping her bag, her heart pounding, her elbows pumping. But they chased her. Like a pack of wild dogs. One, and then another, and then another, and another, and – NO, NO, NO – another, and another, and another…... Then, then they were on her. She screamed, her hands flaying, fighting. She wasn’t going to let them take her that easily.
But it was too late, you see. Too late for her. Too late this time.
Later she was lying in bed, the cool white sheets barely touching her, her face swollen beyond recognition. Her small daughter sat beside her, stroking her hand. Shhhh Mama, shhhhh…..she said. It will be okay, she murmured. Remember, what’s important is that you’re beautiful on the inside….
Image by Terradactil.
PS In happier news, check out this *fab* blog entry on Morocco by Julie at Live in Full Color.
