She was tired from the fire. Tired of having no name. No eyes. Just a silhouette sighing in the night.

People make me feel so small, she whispered to Talib.

Talib nodded to her as if she were real. She didn’t know how to tell her that her skin is made of ashes. One gust of wind, and she’s just unseen particles.

At her funeral, Talib called all around to find her name.

I don’t know, they said. She’s just mother of Malik.

She’s always been wife of Kaleb.

Talib lit a candle for a face. The silence rose in a snake of smoke to no real place in particular.


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