It filters through the haze of an afternoon sun casting its light between branches. It accompanies a melody in the throes of uncertainty. It speaks to...us in the soft unbrokenness of a mother’s voice calling for her son in the middle of the night. Maryam had found such a passion, but a passion which haunts and never heals, a passion which thrives on a desperate paranoia for her son’s well-being.As the days continued beyond Mustafa’s first grade year, Maryam grounded him to the small apartment.. . thicker? He couldn't decide for sure,until the burst of fabric enveloped him once again, settling him backinto his feminine look.The dress, much like the wig, was different. Where it had been a simpleshort dress before, it had now increased in volume, the tiny bit ofcrinoline was now a thick, rustling puff of petticoats, sittingunderneath a wider skirt, which itself was now adorned with little bowsand hearts. The breasts even seemed heavier, which bounced as he waspushed up a few inches, new. More

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