Raz
Bluelighter
I quite like this piece up until the last couple of paragraphs and then I think it kind of loses focus maybe? If anyone has any ideas, feel free to shoot them at me. 
She left home at 12 to avenge her father’s death.
Her mother tells the story of her little Tamil girl, weary and resigned to these things that their lives have become.
Few tears escape her eyes; the time has come and gone for crying, mostly. There is still emotion, pulled to the surface by the power of memory and pain and a mother’s bond broken…but the tears are almost gone.
There will come a time when that well is tapped dry, and the mother quietly dreads this day. Pain is painful, but it reminds her of her humanity when so many outside forces try to steal that humanity from her. When explosives and the constant drone of planes shred everything else around her, humanity is a thing she will cling to for as long as she can.
Her daughter sold her tears for weapons long ago. She sold them when she sold herself to the chaos that has taken the place of her childhood.
She still has some of that little Tamil girl inside her…that girl flits to the surface in her playful banter with her squadmate. She can be seen hiding over undercover clothes. But she is guerilla dressed as girl now, and the war takes precedence over girlish things.
The war will always take precedence.
The little Tamil girl doesn’t expect to live through today, or any other day. Violence is her bedmate and death her most trusted companion.
Death has been her companion since she was 12. It moves ahead of her and around her, lightning shaded black and red, fuelled by her grief and powering her anger. One day it will move with her.
One day it will move with her.
She left home at 12 to avenge her father’s death.
Her mother tells the story of her little Tamil girl, weary and resigned to these things that their lives have become.
Few tears escape her eyes; the time has come and gone for crying, mostly. There is still emotion, pulled to the surface by the power of memory and pain and a mother’s bond broken…but the tears are almost gone.
There will come a time when that well is tapped dry, and the mother quietly dreads this day. Pain is painful, but it reminds her of her humanity when so many outside forces try to steal that humanity from her. When explosives and the constant drone of planes shred everything else around her, humanity is a thing she will cling to for as long as she can.
Her daughter sold her tears for weapons long ago. She sold them when she sold herself to the chaos that has taken the place of her childhood.
She still has some of that little Tamil girl inside her…that girl flits to the surface in her playful banter with her squadmate. She can be seen hiding over undercover clothes. But she is guerilla dressed as girl now, and the war takes precedence over girlish things.
The war will always take precedence.
The little Tamil girl doesn’t expect to live through today, or any other day. Violence is her bedmate and death her most trusted companion.
Death has been her companion since she was 12. It moves ahead of her and around her, lightning shaded black and red, fuelled by her grief and powering her anger. One day it will move with her.
One day it will move with her.
