Near the goalpost, the man behind her asked her to stop. Mariam did.
Through the crisscrossing grid of the burqa, she saw his shadow arms lift his shadow Kalashnikov.
Mariam wished for so much in those final moments.
Yet as she closed her eyes, it was not regret any longer but a sensation of abundant peace that washed over her.
She thought of her entry into this world, the harami child of a lowly villager,
an unintended thing, a pitiable, regrettable accident. A weed.
And yet she was leaving the world as a woman who had loved and been loved back.
She was leaving it as a friend, a companion, a guardian. A mother. A person of consequence at last.
No. It was not so bad, Mariam thought, that she should die this way. Not so bad.
This was a legitimate end to a life of illegitimate beginnings.
Mariam's final thoughts were a few words from the Koran, which she muttered under her breath.
He has created the heavens and the earth with the truth; He makes the night cover the day and makes the day overtake the night,
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