By Ketrina Damazio H collects his first batch of happiness at 6:05 am. He disentangles from the furls of their bluish thick bedsheets, his head first, then his hands, then his legs. A whirlpool of wet winds embraces his chin making his goatee to propel south and west...

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Not my Daughter

A scream echoed through the night. Waris winced in pain as a wave of contractions hit her: the first of many. Despite it being the middle of the night, the refugee camp bustled with life. Children ran barefoot between the narrow alleyways, the sound of their laughter...

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