Sarah had always been scared of almost everything. The dark, her closet, her teacher, Father, speeding cars, the back of her house, clowns, noisy parks, spiders, you name it. And every single person she had been fortunate enough to meet in her short 14 years of life, would make it a point to remind her of that.
And they would always laugh. Everyone would laugh. Everyone would mock. Everyone, especially Hassan.
Sarah had always been a wimpy little girl— but tonight she had been brave. Tonight, she was not afraid of anything. Not of the dark in Hassan’s room. Nor of Mother’s silver knife. Or of the blood mushing in her soft hands, or the intestines spilling from Hassan’s torn stomach. Or the metallic stench of blood running stale. Or the pool of red at her feet. Nothing scared her, not tonight.
Sarah had always been called names, but after her feat of bravery, nobody would. Nobody would mock. Nobody would laugh. Nobody, especially Hassan.