Colleagues led Amani through several doors in the detaining facility, her upper arms held by a man while her raging wrist rubbed the metal of the shackles. Once in a bright room, the cuffs were worked off Amani before a dark, short woman in an oversized uniform approached her.

"I am Sara and I'll guide you. Follow me."

Amani paid heed. Her heavy-footed walk coupled with her slackened hands had Sara glancing at her to make sure she was following her before slipping into a room filled with cabinets.

Sara pushed out folded cotton grey clothes and a set of flip-flops, "Change."

Privacy was anticipated but a voice was quick to remind Amani that she was a felon. So, she hid her fat flesh as much as she could, sluggishly slipping into the set of musty-smelling half vest, a shirt, wide pants, and a bandana for her hair. She slipped into the flip flops before Sara directed her through doors protected with keypad passwords while running her down details.

"There is a schedule. There's time for a shower, peeing, and poo. You get an hour in the yard every day. You eat in your cell." she paused after clicking the lock of the cell with a key.

Sara directed her finger at a device on the wall of the small cell that encompassed an excuse of a bed with a piece of material that could be consoled as a blanket, a sink, a dust bin, and an empty cabinet built into the wall. "Press the green button if you need something and talk to the device. Do you have any questions?"

Wrapping her arms around herself, Amani only wanted to know, "Do you think I did it?" Her tone rasped through her dry throat.

Sara stared at Amani like an artist does his muse before she looked away, "I am not the judge." With a small smile, she twisted and closed the door on her way out.

Amani let out a dry chuckle that graduated into a sob.

Unlike the rest of the penal institution's whiff of steel, Amani's confinement room reeked a suffuse of disinfectant and sweat; whiffing through her nostrils and compelling her to cease her breath as she wrapped her arms around herself.

When she had zigzagged enough, memorizing the cell in an attempt to make busy and distract herself, she sat on the woebegone bunk bed, flashes of that day rasping her to the core and surging her breath. Hugging her knees, whimpering, Amani laid her back on the bumpy wall, hiding her face into her knees and zoning into an abysmal labyrinth of self-loathe and catastrophe.

After time Amani had no track of, she forced her sore neck up at the sound of metal clicking from the door, ceasing her series of supplications. The door pushed open to the face of Sara and if Amani was in prison for less gruesome acts, she would've made a counter about how she was already satiated of Sara's face.

"Come on," Sara rooted her hand up, "You need to see an imam."

"Why?"

"Come out."

Weighing her options, it was in her best interest to surrender. She had no energy to fight, only pray even if she doubted her prayers would be answered. She released her wet arms from around herself, framing up.

Amani ignored the pity Sara showered her with from the second she laid eyes on her and dropped her keen to her wrist being confined into handcuffs. She followed Sara to a spontaneous turn. Once it was the limit for Sara, she gestured for Amani to get into a room enveloped in the scent of herbs and apple cider vinegar.

"Uncuff her." A disembodied voice ordered. Sara obliged, releasing the bruised wrists from the handcuffs. Amani's eyes searched for the imam, spotting a medium-height man with a controlled beard. He smiled, gesturing at a prayer mat across from him.

He enquired about her himar and Amani admitted that Sara didn't tell her to and she was too heedful to quickly put it on. "Sit, please." The imam with a chasbih around his fist begged after.

Amani haltingly tensed on the mat, splaying her feet to the side and sitting on her butt by the other. The imam stared at Amani, shrinking her further and brewing questions from her. What was he looking at? Did she grow fatter? Was he judging her for killing her father? Where imam's not supposed to be non-judgmental?

Her rows of probes went answered once the Imam cleared his throat, "Repeat after me...Ya Hayyu Ya Qayyum..."

As mountains sat atop the ground, an invisible force sat atop Amani's larynx, refraining her vocal cords from working. The Imam took no offense in her lack of response and reran,

"Yaa..." Amani attempted, her words choking her and she let out a breath, shaking her head before dropping it.

The imam continued to urge, fixing his poise and inching forward.

Amani croaked the supplication, scratching her itchy throat. He completed it and she reran his words, lifting her eyes to catch his sight.

The Imam offered another supplication that Amani knew and completed, dragging her mucus back with a sniff as she awaited his next.

Further, they went, The imam taking the lead for most of the supplications while Amani completed most. Like hocuspocus, a sense of serenity despite her turmoil enveloped her, calming her for the minutes she sat across the man. Allah had promised and with the numerous supplications she had rehearsed, he responded by dipping her in a pool of peace, her mental stress and anxiety melting away.

Although the Imam's words brought peace, the rehearsal compelled Amani's nerves to slowly rise in question. Was this a procedure for every inmate?

"Is this a-"

"I need you to make these supplications a habit." He nodded incessantly until Amani nodded back. He recited Surah after Surah and gave out heartfelt words which would've been soothing except for the fact that Amani was in detention for the suspicion of killing her father, her mother was sick, and she had little hope of seeing her family. "Allah does not burden a soul more than it can bear."

Amani's keenness was fixed on him by the time he had finished his words.

"I am sorry...to announce to you," he paused to let out a deep breath, "The death of your mother. Hajia Binta, I believe, in the early hours of the evening, she died..."

Her breath froze, every word he said after that was background noise over the ringing in her head. Thrown off by his words, the quest for how to contain the outburst of emotions that hit her minutes later became a dilemma.

Amani languidly stalled back, realizing her back had no barricade to stop her from collapsing. A force rushed her forward, forcing her palms on the mat in support. She breathed through her mouth and went back to holding her breath. Her eyes, and hands, sore. She hardly could point out what was in front of her, her eyes hazy, her mind muddled, her head dizzy.

Like Amani's inward feelings, mother nature stroke; the rain that had bypassed her knowledge intensified, a light flashing before an earth-cracking thunder stroke the ground. Amani followed nature's lead, letting out a choked howl in the now deadly, chilly room.

"You're lying," she contradicted, shaking her head, "You have to be lying." The thought of someone who existed hours ago and was now gone forever was too big to chew, mind going devoid of anything except her mother's smile.

"You have my sincerest condolences."

Amani studied the man with her wide eyes and parted lips until she was convinced that this was not a joke. A bigger part of her believed it to be. She splayed her left finger across her chest and her right across her throat. Her throat was grasped by an invisible force; letting her breathe but making sure every breath she took was agonizing.

Amani imagined a black hole receding in place of her heart, she imagined that the sun had set forever, light never to be seen again. This could not be real. He was lying, they were lying, and Mommy was not dead. She stroke up, catching the nearest barricade to stop her hazy and dizzy anatomy from clumping over.

"Do you want to be alo—"Of course not. She wanted to see her mother and sprinted for the door. "Hasbunal—"

Ignoring every red flag in her act, she ran out mad as a hatter. The news fueled her with the need to bring an end to this joke.

Sara and the imam called after her. Her heavy gait and disheveled form that was about to pass out gained the attention of guards by the gate leading to what she imagined was an escape. The men were quick to put out a hand to stop her and much to their surprise, she backed down for a second before she was lunged for the door again.

Sara reached to catch Amani's arm only for the baffled girl to snatch away and run into the barricading arms of the guards. They caught her in the air once she jumped, lifting and grasping her with grunts.

Amani cried out. They were telling her mommy was dead so she realized her importance. She was sorry and made sure to tell them, "No need to do this. I..." She paused to wheeze once she was dropped and she landed on her back, pain exploding throughout her already sore body. "I will listen to you! I'll pray on time more, I'll learn to cook, I'll listen to every... Just-" She pushed away Sara's helping hand and the hallway went silent.

A conclusion that Amani needed to be alone was made. Sara and a guard dragged her resisting form over the sound of her protests back to the room before the man stepped out.

Again, Sara went on her terrible venture, "Do you need anything?"

Amani wanted to say, 'My mum,' but her throat had dried up, her vocal cords had collapsed and her energy annihilated. Sara left.

Time went by and it was then the heaviest thing hit her like a ton of bricks. Stuck and confused with life and so many emotions, she split in half; one part believing her mother was dead and the other desperately contradicting the news. Mommy couldn't be dead; no, Amani couldn't be an orphan. She had never prayed that hard in her life, God wouldn't do this.

This had to be a dream. It didn't feel real. And if it wasn't, this was it, she thought; the part which the character never recovers from. The part that took them down and everything they ever held dear; the forever scar.

Amani found herself hugging her knees at the end of the blurry room with no memory of getting there. Flashbacks of Mommy's contagious smile permeated her eyes and she closed them, reminding herself this was a big, bad dream she'd wake up from.

She never did. It slowly and agonizingly settled that this might not be a dream and the thought punched loathsome holes through her empty chest.

Amani tried rummaging for her mother in the poorly lighted room. Hoping Nadeen and Walid would appear too and they'd burst out laughing. Rather than laughing, Amani would cry. Cry out of joy and anger; joy that her family was intact and anger that they thought a prank like this was anything but suicidal.

She never found them.

The insubstantial idea of never making more memories, never seeing her mother, or whiffing her warmth and fragrance-hell, even the woman's scoldings had Amani abruptly standing. She circled, holding her hands out in hopes of her mother grasping them but as always, the woman was out of reach. Instead, she reached for the device on the wall, pressing the red button.

"Hello," the word tore and stomped upon her Sahara throat, bleeding her out but for her mother, she'd bleed for a thousand years. "Sara?" She called the one person that showed genuineness. "Sara, are you there?"

"Her shift is over." A gruff, annoyed male voice answered.

Amani weighed her options and took her time breathing deeply before pressing the button again, "Please, call my lawyer." She begged, "Micheal Daniel, that's his name. Tell him I need to see him." So he could tell her all they said was a joke.

"Madam it's three in the morning." The device winded into a ring before it went blank.

That turned up her disquietude. Rather do something than sit in that empty room, with an empty chest and empty life. She pressed an unfailing finger on the button until she was successful in getting a reply.

"You are not allowed to press this line anyhow," The man at the post said. "And it is too early to get your lawyer."

"Then please let me out." She pleaded with her croaky voice. "My mum-jus-please..."

Amani had no idea how he took her last words. She was in detention for the suspicion of murder; it wasn't hard news, but here she was begging to be let out because she had lost her mother.

The walls closed in on her, making her wheeze out and clutch her chest, her body wet with sweat.

"I don't know if you know," her sob story began, her eyes dry as she repelled against all the stupid lies they were feeding her. She went on until her voice and feet gave out, collapsing with the need to cry and shout but something inside her was dead. Nothing made sense. Not even her breath. She clutched on for dear life, her shoulders tightened, froze in place and her system shook uncontrollably. In and out, she tremored, gasping and wheezing as she crossed her arms, holding onto her shoulders for comfort and picturing her family in place of her hands.

It felt like she had betrayed her family by not bugging the speaker more but the guilt melted once the door rattled and a guard stuck his head into the room. His blank gaze met her trembling in a ball at a corner and he gestured her over with his head.

Amani stood on wobbly legs and trailed him until they were at where she guessed was the reception. "This is all I can do," He said in a flat tone, accustomed to handling felons. He knew evil and fished it out even from the most innocent face but this felon... All she looked like was a scared girl who could not accept his offer to sit. She cracked; pacing while eating on her fingers, ceased to bounce, wailed and most of the time clutched her chest and grasped her throat.

He looked way, raising his butt from the bench and revving out a box of cigarettes. The empty reception and blood-curling darkness of the sky that hauled not even the slightest hint of stars covered his tracks.

He lighted a stick, inhaling a deep stroke and releasing it with a loud breath that drew Amani's attention. Her judgmental eyes found his blank ones, she was about to pass out of a panic attack and he was smoking.

"You want one?" He asked since she hadn't stopped breathing like a generator and staring. Her hesitant eyes flew from him and the stick he struck out towards her before she continued pacing, chewing her nails and stuttering gibberish. He shrugged.

Way into it, Amani whiffed past him and snatched the stick, clumsily settling next to him and holding the stick awkwardly. She mimicked the act she had grown to watch, sandwiching the stick between her fingers and then her lips before taking a brusque, amateur drag that disrupted all her sequential activity of hers.

Amani choked, the smoke setting her ablaze and reducing her to ashes. She coughed, roughly hitting her chest and almost falling off the bench.

"Kai..." the guard exclaimed, "Easy-"

"I am fine."

"Let me show-"

"I am fine." She insisted, backing her claim by bringing the cigar to her lips again, and this time carefully sucking in the smoke. It worked and she mastered the rhythm a few more drags in.

It was crazy how she was instantly at ease after her first smoke; her mind going silent. This was what she needed and she freed herself from her values, begging for another smoke. And another. And another.

On her fourth attempt, he declined. "Easy with it." He tried to lighten the mood, "If you get life imprisonment, you will probably die a month after the verdict with smoke like this."

Rather than a smile at his dark humor, he had cleared it to Amani that she wasn't just alone, she was also probably going to leave Nadeen and Walid in this cruel world alone.

Disconnected from life, the guard escorted her back to her cell. She had had enough air and this was against ethics.

In the next hours, Amani's door rattled and she rose her numb head from between her knees. Whoever was at the door was her last hope and she was hoping it was her attorney. Mike the savior trooped in with slumped shoulders that only rose Amani's lifeless ones. No. This was a bad dream. Why was it still extending?

"S-she's...really...?" Amani stumbled with her words. Mike knew what her query was and languidly nodded, dropping his head as the door closed.

Suddenly, all she heard about mothers was true. She truly was the most important person. Amani's life revolved around hers and now that she had been announced dead, the wheels had stopped, the gas had depleted; everything came to a dreadful halt.

Heartbreak-this was what it felt like? Not her long nail chirping off, not her favorite show canceled, not even Daddy hitting mommy but pain...pure, indescribable Pain that made a vow to never go away.

Mike etched himself on the bed, grasping Amani's hand in his as he was the closest she would get to comfort anytime soon, and sat with her in silence.

Amani thought about mommy, everything about her that she could remember and the pain wafted in waves when she recalled happy memories as now-now she would never make new ones. She couldn't stop to imagine what her younger ones were feeling then.

"Can you get me an order to go see her before they bury her?" And see her siblings too, squeeze them in a hug, and try not to break down more than they will.

"You're under preventive detention for possible murder now, Amani." He spoke so low-as if to a newborn, as if afraid of reaction, irking her senses. She probably would never be convinced that the unsaid was true without taking a closer look at her mother's corpse.

Like love, she loathed sympathy towards her and as such, she sat steel for hours with Mike squeezing her hand and yanking her out of her visit to memory land every once in a while.

When she spoke again, her voice sent a numbing dread down both Mike's and her spine. "Do you know what this means?"

Mike had an inkling but he wouldn't be too reckless. He snail-likely shook his head and Amani caught the act from her rear view.

"It means we have a change of plan."

Not mere plan, this was her change for life and she fixed her blazing eyes on the blank wall; the flame her orbs shouldered was ardent enough to burn the world and reduce it to ashes.

And since no one cared to tame her fire, she'd annihilate the world by breathing out her flames.