apter One
Turkey — Istanbul — one of the remote villages
It was an ordinary day… or so I thought.
I was playing alone by the fence of our house, caressing my new toy that my father had given me, lost in childish laughter that had never tasted worry.
Our neighbors, separated from us by nothing more than a simple wall, were the closest people to our hearts… Iraqis like us, strangers in this distant land.
Uncle Aiham and Aunt Wijdan were like a second family to me. They had no children, so I filled their house—and their emptiness.
How different Uncle Aiham was… every time he returned from work as an officer, he would embrace me, fill my hands with gifts, and draw a smile on my face larger than my age.
I was sitting on a stone near the fence when the stillness of the moment was shattered by the sound of an argument—loud, tense voices…
Among them, I recognized Uncle Aiham's voice.
Without thinking, I ran toward their door, only to be met by scenes I would never forget as long as I lived…
Several strange men surrounded Uncle Aiham, their conversation sharp and angry… They did not notice the small child watching from afar, trembling with fear and shock.
Suddenly, without warning…
One of them raised a silenced gun and aimed it at Uncle Aiham's chest.
A single shot…
And Uncle Aiham fell to the ground, writhing in a pool of blood spreading beneath his body.
Their bloodstained hands were not satisfied with what they had done…
They pulled out a large knife—I do not know where it came from—moved toward him, grabbed his hair brutally, lifted his head mercilessly… and with one fatal motion, severed his head from his body.
I froze in my place behind the large container separating our house from theirs, hiding my small body, my eyes refusing to blink away from the horrific scene.
They were huge… terrifying… their features unclear, yet their presence planted terror deep into my bones.
When they were done, they withdrew as they had come, wrapped in dreadful silence.
I ran… with all the weakness my childhood could muster, toward Uncle Aiham, and knelt beside the lake of blood.
I screamed… a scream that tore through the walls of the house and split the sky's heart.
Aunt Wijdan came out of the kitchen, dragging her feet…
She saw Uncle Aiham's head among the blood, rushed to him, lifted it to her chest, kissed it, cried over it, reproached him—as if trying to bring him back to life.
My family ran toward us after hearing my scream. My mother pulled me by the arm, held me tightly, tried to cover my small eyes from the sight of death… but where was I?
My soul remained there, suspended above Uncle Aiham's body.
My mother dragged me away from the house—a body without a soul—my steps lost in the street, my eyes dazed, searching for Uncle Aiham's shadow among the darkness.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps behind me!
Someone was watching me!
I turned around in terror… but found no one.
Were they merely illusions left by the shock? Or was someone truly stalking me?
I ran back to the house and found people gathered, the body covered with a gray blanket, and the poor mother, Wijdan, clutching her husband's severed head, screaming cries that shattered hearts.
I heard nothing after that… all sounds melted in my ears. Nothing remained except the image of blood, hovering before my eyes.
They buried Uncle Aiham in Iraq, in Wadi al-Salam Cemetery… I do not know how, nor when. All I know is that I lost a piece of my soul forever.
Days passed… and all I could see was blood.
I woke up at night to nightmares chasing me, screaming without a sound, shivering with fear and cold.
In one year, I grew two years older than my real age. I grew up… and the world fell silent inside me.
All my family's attempts to pull me out of this grief failed.
Toys… the sea… outings… nothing brought the smile back to my face.
I had witnessed my first murder in life… while I was only a child, not yet four years old.
We returned home after my father came back from Iraq and took us with him.
After that, he tried every possible way to pull me out of the state I was in. He brought the neighbor girls so I could play with them, but I couldn't accept anyone—except one girl I managed to love.
My family started taking me every day to play with her in the street.
One day, as usual, we were playing—a normal day… or so we thought.
While we were playing, we felt footsteps approaching us… I didn't care and kept playing, until a shadow fell over my head. I sensed it, and when I tried to turn around…
suddenly I felt the sharp sting of a needle on the side of my left leg!
My entire body went numb… I felt sweat pouring from me, my body shutting down bit by bit… it felt as if the blood in my body had stopped.
As for the one who stabbed me—he ran away and escaped!
The neighbor girl ran screaming to call my family, and I collapsed to the ground, my body paralyzed, only my eyes moving.
My family rushed over, my father carried me quickly, put me in the car, and sped toward the hospital.
There, doctors began examining me, injecting me with one needle after another… my body did not respond!
They injected me with 137 injections… with no benefit.
Even my eyesight was gone… my entire body stopped—no movement, no sensation.
The doctor said to my family:
"Take her out. The girl's body no longer responds to any treatment… let her die at home, it's better than tormenting her here."
Two days passed in the hospital, then I opened my eyes… but my body was completely paralyzed.
My father went out, brought me a wheelchair, placed me in it, and took me to the hospital garden.
He brought me a small toy
—a keychain with a car on it
—and tried to move it with my hand.
The only one who came close to me was a little girl named "Asal (Honey)." She held my hand as if greeting me… she too was sick, and they feared she might not survive.
I heard the doctor's words—that these were my last days…
But my father refused to despair. He trusted God and Ahl al-Bayt.
Quickly, he booked travel tickets, and we returned to Iraq—specifically to Najaf, to the shrine of Imam Ali (peace be upon him).
We arrived around midnight… I was conscious, I heard them, I saw them, but my body was paralyzed—even my tongue would not move.
We sat in the courtyard facing the dome of the Imam…
My grandmother, "Zahra," was praying, crying, supplicating Imam Ali, asking for his intercession.
I was in my grandmother's arms, my eyes open, feeling, seeing…
Suddenly, I saw a beautiful young woman, her light filling the place, as if she were not from this world at all!
Her voice was soft, her appearance angelic.
She said:
"The girl has nothing wrong with her, but take her to visit Imam Abbas."
My grandmother asked her:
"Will my granddaughter recover if we take her to him?!"
The Alawiya replied:
"Yes, take her to Aba al-Fadl, and see how she stands on her feet immediately!"
She walked a few steps… then vanished suddenly, as if she were not an ordinary human.
My father immediately carried me, and we went to Karbala, heading to the shrine of Aba al-Fadl al-Abbas.
They brought me into the shrine while I was lying down, my body motionless.
My grandmother fulfilled her vow there, collapsed in prayer, and my mother cried with a burning heart.
It did not take long… only a few minutes.
I felt something strange…
The coolness of the marble reached my body
—I felt it…
My hand began to move!
I started to feel my leg… my body!
My soul returned…
My sensation returned…
The warmth of my body returned…
I returned to life!
Doctors were helpless. They lost hope. They said the chance was zero…
But at the door of Aba al-Fadl, life returned to me as a miracle.
Nothing is impossible with Ahl al-Bayt…
I am alive by the miracle of Imam Abbas!
And they ask you about Abbas—say:
He is the safety to which the fearful seek refuge.
He is the one at whose door needs are placed, where one says:
O Allah, by Aba al-Fadl al-Abbas
To be continued…
¶•••~••~••~••~••~••~••~••~••~••~••~••~••¶
Scene Two
"The Day Life Was Taken from Me"
On one of the darkest days of my life, in May 2014,
the air was suffocating with heat.
I had just finished my monthly cleansing… my body clean, perfumed, wrapped in layers of masks and moisturizers.
As if I were preparing myself to burn.
I stepped out of the bathroom wearing a short dishdasha that reached my thighs, my chest barely covered, my hair wrapped in a white towel.
At the bathroom door, he was standing.
His face was grim, beads of sweat dripping from him, and his eyes… eyes I have never forgotten.
He called my name:
"Come with me."
I followed with heavy steps…
Everything felt suspicious:
The house was empty.
His sisters had left early that morning to their sister's house. Only my aunt remained
—the one who seemed to have paved the way for him
—then she left, saying:
"I have something to do, I need to go out!"
I walked in fear… until I reached the door of my room.
Then I turned around.
I saw evil boiling in his eyes.
I saw it… and for the first time, I knew that I was completely alone.
"Close the door."
I closed it.
I stood in front of the mirror, removing the towel from my hair, when he suddenly lunged from the bed.
He leapt like a beast.
He grabbed my scarf
—the one I had prepared to wear
—and wrapped it tightly around my mouth, choking me. He seized my wrists and bound me with another scarf.
He shoved me violently onto the bed.
Climbed on top of me.
He controlled every part of me as if I were a doll… my entire body pinned beneath him
—no room to move, no room to scream.
Not even room to cry.
"Today I'll know if you're a decent girl or not,
so I know how to expose you!!!"
I fought with everything that remained of my strength,
but the difference in power between us was vast…
He was far bigger than me.
He came closer in a vile way…
As if I were prey, not a human being.
He took me… by force.
He did not consider my age,
nor my tender body,
nor my innocence.
Everything inside me shattered…
Every moment tore me apart even more.
When he was done,
he left me like a dead body, drowned in blood.
He loosened the cloth from my mouth, placed a kiss on my head—as if nothing had happened—then walked out calmly…
While I kept bleeding and bleeding,
losing life, losing myself.
I tried to crawl to the bathroom… my body would not obey me.
With difficulty, I washed myself… wrapped a robe around me to hide the traces of blood.
I walked unsteadily… until I collapsed in the middle of the hall.
I heard him speaking on the phone, telling his mother what he had done to me!
He bragged about it…
As if it were a victory, not a crime.
He saw me fallen… carried me like a broken doll back to my room.
He changed my clothes with his own hands…
Wrapped me in a black abaya, pulled my hair tight and hid my face.
And when he put me into the car,
he was calling my name…
But I did not answer.
Inside myself, I swore I would make him regret it.
But today,
I am the one who regrets that I survived after that day
To be continued…