Blindfoled, hands shackled behind me, I stumble on the ripped hem of my chador. They laugh.
I am dragged by the armpits. My knees bang against each step of the gallows. The crowd cheers, “Death to the prostitute, death to the adulterer.”
I’ve committed no crime. I’m still a virgin.
Rough hands yank off my veil. A gentle breeze kisses my face. The burlap noose is placed around my neck, and tightened.
Yesterday Pedar called me his little dove. Today, I am no longer his daughter, no longer human. My wings are tightly bound inside my black shroud.
I don’t expect to touch the blue sky with my two hands again.
