We have been going through the shape of each building in the city and constantly find dissatisfaction in their design. We try to put meaning in the concrete walls and spaces as we write songs and poetry that no one would read. We look for signs through words and little events, wanting definitions; of love that have never really been requited. We climb mountain tops, swim streams, and look into the eyes of strangers for reflection only to find gaping spaces and rising walls. Tomorrow, fire shall fall from the skies and as God contrives His pity, we will weep for things that we have already lost a long time ago. And then maybe, we can finally think of the line that would finish our literature.
That night, after five men had raped her with rusty tubes and pipes and left her for dead, she struggled to reach her home and prayed to Yahweh. In her sleep, He came to her in a dream and said, “Dry your tears child. I have a plan for you”. The next morning, upon washing her clothes in a poso at the back of her hut, the five men came back and took turns bludgeoning her to death. The metal basin bathed in detergent, blood, and brains. Yahweh watched as the five men made their way out of the barrio.