I was getting ready for bed when my phone dinged with a message from my childhood friend, Shamhad. She had previously left two messages which I had not yet answered, so I knew I needed to respond to this one.
He stood in front of the youngest child’s room. His body shook nervously, seemingly full of adrenaline as his eyes dilated, deepening the shade of his green eyes. I was completely caught off guard when he blocked the door with his body to keep me from escaping.
I was running an errand when my attention was drawn to the familiar figure heading toward the underpass. I had seen this particular homeless man walking aimlessly through our small town many times and often wondered about his story.
The early morning sun shone behind the acacia tree - red, angry and covered in the orange hue of fire. The sun was here to witness an injustice it would cycle back to tell many years later.
One afternoon, I had been absorbed in my studies for an hour or two when a well dressed man carrying a briefcase walked into my study room.