They had a helpless silence, no one likes a dead and drowned child, she didn't even understand what had happened to her, the torture and atrocity. She was a gentle child, she did not scream through any of it, no whimper or sob as giant fists hit her, she lay still as she was torn apart and violated, she lay the same way she lays with folded arms in her tiny coffin, her soul as pure as an angels', her hair wet, forever, unafraid eyes, savagely attacked, unmerited shame, and you speak of self-respect, fuck your dead mother in the ass.
Kiss my cold hand and apologize. Day by day, heal past the sorrow and pain that rapes you too. Too young and too innocent, motionless and half frozen, a solemn face, remarkably brilliant.
There is a calmness in such a small creature who once kneeled in the corner and prayed for a dying stranger she did not know, she wept, her childhood cheerfulness gone, soon raped and murdered, making her eyes blank forever, her father saying she had little matchstick arms, knowing that she suffers silently, and that only God can remove her scars and make her beautiful once more, a God that washed the feet of whores, a barefoot God who was poor and humble, a God that people also tortured and killed.
After darkness is light, we all have scars, she speaks to God, she tells Him that he was a Lion, the last Lion, He tells her that she's a lioness, the world's lioness, she sees Him when her eyes are closed, and she sees Him when they are open as well.