For the past two birthdays, she’d received nothing. What happened two minutes past midnight was a relief.

She had a constant demand for attention in the way all little girls adored by their fathers do. It was hard not to enjoy the high of being loved. The peak of her young life was always replaying in her mind—the summer evenings on the balcony as her father watched her inconsistent choreography, listened to her witty comments only children could make, and compared her to her elder brother, who was often stuck in the corner reading. This was how her family used to be- how it always should have been.

Now it was nighttime and she was the only one sitting on the patio eight floors up. The air held something undetectable. Her brother would’ve described the atmosphere as “thick and suffocating,” using fancy words no normal person cared about. 

 Bugs chirped, but only barely, as if they were also scared to rouse whatever monsters kept returning. At this thought, she burrowed herself under the quilt, feeling frightened but also weary. It was as if her maturity had come earlier than anyone would’ve thought. Getting used to life’s disappointments is an adult’s job.

Yet the perils of womanhood hadn’t fully taken her. On her wrist was a watch that she had taken from her uncle as he slept. A childish move, but it was a useful tool to count down the minutes until her birthday. Telling time wasn’t one of her strong suits and she couldn’t go to school anymore. However, she knew midnight was approaching. To celebrate this, she tried to write in the dirt with her toes. It was hard to see in the dark, but she had authored:

We celebrate the dawning of a new day to move on from the hours before and prepare for tomorrow.

It wasn’t her line, but if her father was actually watching, he would be impressed. A fearful thought overtook her: if he was with God now, then he would be like Him and know when she was lying. She even uttered an apology to her brother, who had come up with it.

I still beat you, she reminded him. In five minutes, I will be older than you.

There was no satisfaction from the victory.

She got up from the rickety chair and paced around the small space. What gift did she want this year? A year ago, it had been her brother and father. A year before that, she’d wished for a pet snake, who would’ve slithered around the house and guided them to safety whenever earthquakes occurred. Not earthquakes, she corrected herself. God causes earthquakes, Man takes lives. Which men to blame? She tried to recollect, but could not keep track anymore.

But she did remember the neighbors near the vegetable stand as well as the soft old man who sold ice creams near the park. (It was once a park). There was also the Hussains’ newborn and Mariam, school beauty queen, who she’d once hated because she had taken attention away from her. Of course, her brother had once been with her, but he was gone before he could reach puberty. And her father, who treated her like the whole entire world, had disintegrated into mere bone fragments while fetching water.

 The country was dying, crumbling right before her own eyes. No one cared for her because there was no one left to care for her. And so came her final prayer, not written on the dirt or copied from her brother.

Send me a sign, Allah, she wished. Send me a sign that I’m not being ignored.

 

At first, the city was still. The calm before the storm, her brother would’ve described, and it resonated with her. For a buzzing sound was approaching, lethal and petrifying.

 And then there was everything, all at once. But she paid no mind to the shrieks of the jolted city or falling debris. She even ignored her uncle’s voice calling her name from inside the apartment.

One attractive sight, reminding her of her previous life, of festivals and fun and an unscathed country and a complete family, rendered her frozen on the shifting balcony. The orange flames in the air were there for her.

Her eyes blurred from happiness. She had received her gift. And as she fell like the bombs, she was only content that those fireworks were the last thing she had seen.