Bled Dry. Abdelilah Hamdouchi

himself beating his sister, kicking her, even stabbing her. He couldn’t handle any more blame from his friends, and thought that if he stuck around he might get in a fight with them. He said his goodbyes, lowered his head, and headed home. He walked with determination, ready to do something serious.

      Ibrahim opened the door and gave a quick look toward his sister’s room, which appeared to be quiet and pitch black. He felt that something had happened before he arrived. His mother was sleeping, or pretending to be asleep, in her usual corner of the basement-level apartment. The only real room in the house was Nezha’s room, since the rest of the place more closely resembled a cellar: a few square feet without any windows or openings whatsoever. His mother, Ruqiya, repositioned herself, groaning painfully, as she battled intense pain. She was a worn-out soul and was extremely skinny. She looked like someone who had borne the brunt of an incredibly difficult life. Her husband’s passing four years ago coincided with the onset of kidney problems that flared up with the slightest aggravation. Everyone walked on eggshells around her, and luckily she had Nezha and Ibrahim to take care of her. Ibrahim would kiss her forehead and hand after waking, and before sleeping. He would jump to get her what she needed, sometimes before she even asked.