She grabbed her journal that sat on the table and an ink pen. She turned to a blank page. She stared at it for a few minutes before actually writing a...ything. Guilt ridden, she wrote these words: I am a slave to the pain and taste, feel and touch of sex. I breathe humiliation being thrust upon me like a child being chastised. Will the Lord ever forgive me for this habitual transgression – this lust of the flesh? I feel as though I can’t shake it. Every time I think I want to let it go, I give. His little brother, Mustafa, was a spindly 8 years old. His mind was as bright as the desert sun. He could figure things out in a wink which Kalik would never understand in a lifetime. It was a fine, hot morning. The boys were out looking for food or anything else of value which might have been left behind by the soldiers – any soldiers. Neither Kalik nor Mustafa had ever been to school and they didn’t concern themselves with the reasons behind the war which had torn their country apart. But. More

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