'I Swear I Heard Her' by Fu'ad Lawal

Her tear glands have emptied. Her friends prevent her from answering the call outside that only her can hear.

We all watch in pity, -her friends, a few relatives, her husband (my friend), and me.

“I pity my wife,” he says, looking at her as she looks out the window for her daughter. “I have failed her. I have failed our daughter,” He says in a tone that makes me know despair can suck light out of anyone that it would seem he has known nothing but darkness for all of his existence.

“Don’t talk like that,” I say, like I have been saying the past three weeks.

“They say a girl escaped after a few days,” he draws me closer, “they say she was raped six times.” He grips my hand tight before he speaks again. “My daughter has been there for twenty-two days. Twenty-two.” The thoughts that follow can never be dis-imagined. Ever.

He draws me even closer and whispers, “Sometimes, I wish they killed my daughter immediately they got into that forest. At least she’d die once, not six times or even m…”

I can the feel lump in his throat as I look into his eyes, scared to death. Their is no light in his eyes. No shine. Almost matte.

I talk about the progress and sacrifices of the Nigerian troops before I take my leave. He says nothing but even in the sorrow, I see gratitude in his eyes.

Back home, looking at my daughter’s face, I know the battle is real.

“Come here. Daddy loves you.” I hug her so tightly that had I not been her father, she would have feared for her life.

Fuad Lawalis a poet and copy writer. He blogs at rebelliousflash300.wordpress.com. Follow him on Instagram/Twitter @rebelliousXIV

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