She was just twelve, tiny, delicate.
Today was the day! Groups of people silently filled the space in front of the entrance to their home. She watched as hordes of people peacefully made a single file and entered through the narrow gate.
Loud rumbling on her right disrupted the proceedings. She turned swiftly to see soldiers in the far distance... As she stood there watching them,
the soldiers knelt down, picked up their rifles and took aim.
Why were they armed? And why were their guns aimed in the direction of the crowds?
As she stared at them, the officers gave the command.
"Fire" she heard, as her joy turned to horror, as a volley of bullets tore through the masses. In terror, she watched them take aim once again and shoot at the crowd... wave upon wave of metal that destroyed everything in their path.
She stood there, unable to move, speak, or cry.
She stood by that wretched window, witnessing her entire life go up in flames.
Decades later, Poornima, a twenty one year old, recovering drug addict, chanced upon a diary written by a young girl. Old and forgotten, it had been tucked away at the back of a chiffonier in the garage...