a small girl sitting under a half burnt tree, with blood on her hands. We run over and ask why she’s crying. She says nothing but points to a pile of what we think is clothes. But it’s not clothes, its a man and he’s all bloody and not breathing.
I stand in front of his desk, the back of his chair facing me, my hands are shaking. I’ve waited 5 years for this moment, all I need is for him to turn around. I rap my knuckles on the desk - no response.