“Fara! You don’t get to play! You can’t even run, so don’t make us lose just because you’re on our team!”
Bernie’s shrill scream instantly cut off the other children’s laughter on the field. Before Fara could even process what she’d said, a rough shove struck her small shoulder. Her frail body staggered and collapsed onto the rocky, barren ground.
Fara blinked, her eyes unfocused. Heat spread through her chest, and a second later tears spilled down her sunken, dusty cheeks. She was almost nine, but as small as a six-year-old. In her short life, she’d never known what it was like to have a friend or be invited to play. The little girl had been born with a weak body. She couldn’t run fast; the moment she got tired, her chest tightened and she broke into coughing fits. Her legs were always covered in scabs and dark scars from bites by field insects that had never been treated.
In this world, Fara was truly alone. She had no friends at school, no companions near home. All she had were looks of disgust and mockery.
Because of Bernie, Fara dragged herself home that day. It wasn’t just her knees, scraped bloody when she hit the rocks on the field; her soul was weighed down by pain and rejection, too. When she got home, she hurried to wash her dirty feet with cold well water, then rushed to lock herself inside her cramped, airless room.
On the rickety wooden cot, Fara stretched out her tired body. She stared at the leaking ceiling, and there she began to weave a fantasy—the only place where she could feel happy.
If only I could run fast like the other kids. Then they’d come knock on my door. They’d all call my name and ask me to be on their team. Fara’s thoughts drifted, creating a pretend smile on her pale lips.
If only my mom and dad were rich, too. I wouldn’t have to drag my feet because my shoes were broken, and I’d have lots of nice toys. Then they’d want to be friends with me. Someone would want to hold my hand.
The fantasy crumbled as reality came crashing back. Fara rolled onto her stomach and buried her face in a musty, threadbare pillow. Her tears flowed soundlessly, soaking the worn-out fabric.
Her mother and father had separated when she was still a toddler, too young to understand anything. According to the hoarse stories told by the grandmother who raised her, her mother had gone to work as a migrant worker in the Middle East after the divorce. But she had vanished as if swallowed by the earth. There were no letters, no news, and worst of all for Grandma, not a single rupiah had ever been sent to help cover Fara’s living expenses. Fara’s father had disappeared, too, choosing to start a new life and forget his own flesh and blood.
Whenever Fara gathered the courage to ask about her mother, the old woman with dark skin and a scowl would fly into a rage. A hard, painful pinch on Fara’s thin thigh was always the first response.
“Forget your mother! Maybe she’s rotting away over there, or maybe she’s selling herself because she couldn’t stand being poor and miserable!” The words flew like daggers, plunging deep and tearing at Fara’s heart, though she was still too young to understand the cruelty behind them.
“If it weren’t for that cursed mother of yours, I wouldn’t have lost my only son! After he left her, your father dumped you on me, then married another selfish woman and forgot all about us! When will I ever be able to stop working and enjoy my old age? Huh?” Her grandmother shouted, breathing hard right in Fara’s face.
“Your uncle and aunt don’t want anything to do with you. You should be grateful they help me out a little so I can buy rice. You’re nothing but a burden, Fara! That wretched woman should’ve taken you with her or thrown you away the moment you were born!” Her stream of curses never stopped, day after day, making new wounds over old ones that had barely begun to heal.
Little Fara grew up with the painfully clear knowledge that her existence was a mistake. Nobody wanted her. Her mother and father were like ghosts—names that came up often in curses, but never took physical form. Her uncle and aunt looked at her as if she were a parasite. Even time and fate seemed unwilling to take her side.
Choking poverty forced Fara to cast her childhood aside. Her frail, malnourished body was made to carry heavy loads as she searched for firewood in the forest, much of which had been cleared and turned into farmland. When planting or harvest season came, Fara often had to skip school. Not because she was lazy, but because she had to work as a day laborer in the neighboring fields to earn a few coins for her grandmother.
In truth, no adult would have wanted—or had the heart—to hire a little girl who was always coughing to work in the rice paddies. But Fara begged. She was willing to be paid far less than the standard wage, as long as she could bring home money and maybe see her grandmother’s face soften for once. She only wanted to make the old woman happy.
But instead of the praise or warm embrace she longed for, Fara got explosive anger. Whenever night fell and the cold air cut through her, she often came down with a terrible cough. The shrill sound always disturbed her grandmother’s peaceful sleep.
“Be quiet! Sickly little brat! You’re keeping everyone awake!” her grandmother snapped from behind the partition.
From then on, Fara learned to hold her breath whenever her throat began to itch and her chest rumbled with an approaching cough. The itch was agonizing, tearing at her throat until tears sprang to her eyes as she fought her body’s natural urge. When she couldn’t hold it in any longer, Fara would bury her whole face in her hard cotton-stuffed pillow, muffling her coughs until her body shook violently and her chest felt as if it were on fire. She would rather feel her chest about to burst from holding back a cough than hear her grandmother curse at her in the middle of the night.
Life felt unbearably hard, cold, and unfair for a child her age. Fara didn’t even have a decent pair of shoes for school. Her black cloth shoes had been falling apart for a long time; her toes stuck out through holes in the front, and the soles had gaped open like a crocodile’s mouth. Whenever she walked, Fara had to move very slowly, dragging her right foot so the sole wouldn’t come completely off. The only flip-flops she had for home had broken at the center peg, so she’d had to mend them with a rusty safety pin. It often poked between her toes until they bled.
But Fara didn’t dare complain. She was terrified of being called ungrateful. Utter exhaustion from crying and going hungry finally overcame the little girl. Wrapped in sadness, she fell into a deep sleep.
Fara jolted awake when a heavy pounding slammed against the door of her flimsy wooden room. The wood creaked sharply, a frightening sound in the pitch-black night. The house had no electricity and was lit only by the dim glow of an oil lamp.
“Wake up, Fara! Are you dead or something?! Can’t you hear me pounding on the door and yelling for you?!” The old woman’s harsh scream pierced the walls of the room.
Fara sat up, trembling. In the darkness, she whispered, barely audible, “If only I really were dead tonight... I’d be so grateful to You, God...”
With what little strength she had left and her legs trembling, Fara walked toward the door. But before she could open it all the way, her grandmother’s strong, rough hand shot inside, grabbed Fara’s thin arm, and yanked her out. The little girl was flung onto the cold, rough cement floor.
“You’ve got it so easy, don’t you! Sleeping since the afternoon, lazing around, and forgetting to gather firewood! Do you know what that means, huh?!” Grandma stood with her hands on her hips over Fara, who was curled up on the floor. The torchlight made her face look frightening. “There’ll be no food in this house tomorrow! Don’t expect to eat!”
Fara could only blink through her tears. She didn’t dare lift her face to look her grandmother in the eye, let alone say a word in her own defense. What was the point? The woman in front of her would never care about her pain or exhaustion.
Her grandmother’s anger seemed to have reached its boiling point. The long scolding gave way to brutal violence. The old woman grabbed a thick bamboo broom from the corner of the room. Without mercy, she swung its handle, striking Fara’s back and bare legs.
Smack! Smack! Crack!
“You should know your place! Gathering firewood is your job! I’m old. I don’t have time to deal with a lazy child like you! Now you’ll learn your lesson!” Her shouts rang out between the blows of bamboo against skin.
Fara grimaced, biting her lower lip so hard it bled to keep from screaming. Excruciating pain spread through her body. Her empty stomach, with no food since the afternoon, twisted violently, mingling with the burning heat of skin that was already turning blue and splitting open under the repeated blows. Her frail body writhed on the floor as she tried to shield her head with her small hands.
God... please let me die now. I’m begging You... Take me tonight. I can’t take this anymore... There isn’t a single person in this world who cares about me or loves me... Please make it stop, God... The plea screamed inside Fara’s heart, but all that came from her mouth was a small, broken whimper.
Seeing Fara stay quiet instead of crying out, her grandmother only grew more enraged. She took Fara’s silence as silent defiance. Her mind, consumed by the stress of poverty and old age, had stripped the woman of her humanity. She beat Fara even more violently, swinging the bamboo handle with all her strength at her back, arms, and thighs.
Smack! Crack!
One hard blow struck the back of her neck. The poor little girl’s body went limp at once. Fara stopped crawling and trying to get away. She lay face-down on the cold cement floor. Slowly, the unbearable pain began to fade into numbness. Fara’s vision, blurred by tears, gradually dimmed, turning into a quiet, peaceful darkness. She could no longer hear the lashes, no longer feel the sting of her torn skin.
Meanwhile, in the dim glow of the oil lamp, the old woman still didn’t realize that the body at her feet had lost its soul. Breathing hard, eyes blazing, she kept swinging the bamboo broom and striking the lifeless body over and over, shouting a thousand cruel curses until her anger was finally spent in the cold silence of the night.