They always told her that love was all that was needed. That love beat everything and love was the only thing worth fighting for. They say love took away all pain but they never said love could be the most painful. They said wrong loving never existed. They were wrong.
12:00 am was always a peculiar hour.
The hour of darkness
The hour of scare.
But for razia, living in khyber,
a district in Pakistan.
It was an hour of hurt.
At the dawn of midnight,
The moonlight glistened on her skin
Razia waited, in terror
In a room, four walled
For her uncle.
And then he stepped inside,
As the aura of the room was changed to fear
As a shiver ran down her spine.
The look in his eyes said it all.
The look of desperation.
Her parents thought he was taking care of her
Little did they know that both their ideals of “care” were like two parallel lines meeting.
That night he showed her love
Just not the kind she needed.
Her muffled screams were heard, all over the neighborhood.
Everyone knew what was happening, no one ever said a word.
The girl of a mere age of 9, was hurt.
The night the girls childhood, lost.
Her happiness, locked away.
Her innocence, lost.
She was left alone, sprawled across the floor.
Then there were breaths, harsh ones.
And then, nothing at all.
Another child lost, at the age of 9.
A victim to a wrong form of loving.
Yes, wrong loving did exist.
By Shamona Koshy
Shamona is a 14 year old who resides in Bangalore and is currently studying in grade 9. Her hobbies include writing, debating, obsessing over Harry Potter a little too much, photography and eating pretty much everything. Her intent of being a lawyer has a lot to do with her communal based writing. Some of her icons include Rupi Kaur and Clementine Von Radics.
Artwork by Unknown.