Whenever we hear any sound like that of hitting and shouting from their house, one of us will ring the doorbell and ask something. It can be anything, like what is the time? Or is water coming?

The men who held down the hand of a five year old and burnt her hand have been destroyed, at least in my mind.

The woman pulled off her cloak. Reaching behind, she unclasped the dress and slipped it over her shoulder. A look of ecstasy came over the large man’s face.

A battle against the male ego that strives to “put women in their place.” It encompassed a greater rage. The rage of unbound, unbent and unburnt women, like herself.

Some of the surgeries were to keep me alive and functional, some to make me resemble the human race again. The physical pain has been almost unbearable, but I can take it.