A Kalashnikov had become a part of his identity,

His dream of a book remained one,

The cherubic face was lost,

He was a mix of  tattered clothes and a gaunt expression, 

The consequences of going against the tenet,

The mere thought was terrifying.

Being a Somalian boy definitely came with a price.




“Put your lips there”, he said in a tone that sent a chill down her spine. In her 5 years of life, she had never been this petrified. Her mother had told her that money was important to survive. It was this voice that had cuittled its way into making her lose her innocence.