He stood there for a very long time, until the cloud formation had transformed to resemble the head of a giant, and then he saw a turtle and then the sky was brilliant red, yellow and pink, and the glow of the sunset was reflected in Omar’s face which gleamed with golden tears.

It didn’t matter anymore if it was Alba. It may not have been her at all. It didn’t matter. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want Omar to tell me. It was someone’s child, it was once alive, and now it was dead.

I was already dead. And Alba was in a place that I could no longer imagine. She too, was dead. Her soul now hung in the balance, in between the guardians of light and darkness. I had given her life, and she had given me death. I was too weak to fight, there was nothing left. Nothing left to imagine, only torture. I went back to the only thing I knew, I went back to losing myself, to finding the shreds of life that I once had.

Life, before Alba.

I could not live for Omar, he deserved far more. He deserved a woman who was unbroken from life. I was no good. My body racked from drugs, from drink, numbed eternally. I was too far gone, too far away from anyone. From myself. I chose to live in the shadows, I chose to live in the dark. There was no more light, there was no more good sense, there was no more hope.

There was only darkness in the places I once loved.

Papa was in his study as usual that day. He had taken to listening to the radio, BBC World Service, and it droned on day and night. He looked up and said to me.

Did you hear? Anwar has been released. They overturned his conviction and he has been flown to Germany for medical treatment. Those German doctors, he chuckled, if anyone can fix his back, it will be them.

Imagine that, he is free. Anwar is free.