He is still running, by: Maryam Hamoud

My grandmother is no longer, my mother is no longer, nor my sister, and the door is locked, my grandmother took the key with her, the light began to seep through the window like thieves, very slowly, and in contrast, I opened my eyes more slowly, we were not companions this time, we were two enemies, its redness was increasing — as if it had noticed my sneering way of looking at it — perhaps shy, for it knows with certainty that it is late, very late this time. I sat at the door, and through its cracks I started watching the street, my father's car will pass, and this time my eyes will run not just like Morgan's horses, but like quarter horses, the world overflows with its need if it decides to run, but the car did not pass, so I had to act. I headed to the room, my sister and I’s den, opened the window and jumped. I went out searching for my family, searched all day, but I did not find them, so I decided to return, but I did not find the house. Number of pages: 116