Education

Seven years old, on loan to an uncle and a bundle of cash went missing. For three days locked in a room, beaten. The golden orbs of pennies roasted in an oven removed by tongs glisten on a child’s skin as she screams and screams. These round white scars that remain even today without pigment without the shadow of colour with only the ash’s afterglow. After telling that story you burnt your hand on the iron, burnt it yourself, your punishment for breaking silence. You rushed to the balcony but they pulled you back inside. You wanted to spit, to scream insults at the soldiers to stop them beating up the old man in the street. “Listen,” she said as she held you back, your mother. “Listen, you have to learn to say nothing.” Learn to be nobody. Learn to be the white wall that has no face and no tongue.