Birthday Girl

It had been pink once, her blanket. With white unicorns.

She was twelve today. A big girl, Baba would have said. She looked at one of the smiling unicorns. It was barely visible now through all the grime.

Hafiz was still asleep, his little body pressed into her side. She pulled the blanket higher over them.

She had been ten when the war started. Baba had gone off with the soldiers. Mamma said he had to fight. And then one day the soldiers took Mamma too. They were brought here that day, to the Camp.

Let Hafiz sleep. There were things to be done.

She went to the showers and checked the roster. Hafiz’s turn tomorrow. Hers next Tuesday. She would wash the blanket then.

Food. 

Her jaw clenched. 

She entered the Rations Depot and stood as the man behind the counter put a can in the machine. It turned, the metal squealing, whining, a harsh counterpoint to her still silence. 

Maybe today would be easy?

The man dumped the can’s contents into a bowl, splashing some on the counter. Her mind screamed in protest - he spilled it! He spilled our food! But she stood unmoving, her eyes glued to the empty can. 

Please let it be easy.

He pointed a finger at her then and her shoulders slumped. Still staring at the empty can, she reached up to the buttons of her dress.

Later, she returned to the tent and slid under the blanket again, a soundless wraith. As her finger followed the dim, faded outline of a unicorn, Hafiz whispered, “Happy birthday, didi!”