Lil´Piggy we will blow your house down!

She sat with her eyes tired and weary, her cheek bones hollowed and her skin grey.

Her lips were dry and chapped in need of moisture, you could tell she´d not eaten anything in days.

Her hair was black, thick and greasy, lank and dusty, her clothing ripped, dirty and torn.

She bent over the table clutching the spoon in her bony knuckled hand, looking towards the kitchen, her nose twitching like a rabbits smelling the aroma that drifted out of it. A fat lady walked over to her with a large white and blue striped china bowl and placed it in front of the girl. Straight away her eyes widened as she saw a simple bowl of chicken stew, it was as though she´d seen an angel. Her spoon was plunged in and lifted out again with a lump of carrot and chicken, straight into her mouth it went, she huffed as it burnt her tongue but smiled as she dove back in for more. This time came potatoes and peas, each spoonful a treasure trove of taste and salvation. The fat lady then brought her a plate with bread on it, simple white sliced bread but to the girl it was like pages from a holy book, she picked a slice up and ran her fingertips over it, as if blind reading braille,

then folded it and dipped it into her stew. She was in her own little heaven, one which most of us take for granted every day.

Her other hand was bloodied and wrapped in a make shift bandage, one of her fingers completely missing, it had been lost in the bomb blast that had killed her whole family. She´d laid hidden for days under an old table too afraid to venture out because she´d heard the soldiers passing, laughing and cussing, calling out “Muslim pigs come out come out where ever you are”.

She was Muslim as was her friends and family but not a pig among them, she never understood why they were hated so much. For several hot days and cold nights she remained hidden away until she heard nothing but a dog sniffing around. With the dog came people who called out “Can anyone hear us, we are here to help?”

She dragged herself out from under the broken table looking up to the sky, up to her God, she´d been saved.

Now she was being fed and later she would bathe and be given new clothing…she was once more a person who mattered. As she ate her eyes began to flood once more with tears, she was all alone now. Who would brush her hair at night, sing her songs, who would protect her? With whom would she play hide and go seek? A child of war of greed, of misunderstanding, of suffering...her and many more.

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