In a final blow, the boot collides with ribs and a wail of agony escapes Siara’s body. Her face down on the cold concrete, she does not look at Lydia who stands over her in victorious glee.
A smile forms on Lydia’s face as though she saw something beautiful in the brutality of the scene.
A crowd gathers around, forming a circle, some cover their eyes with their hands and others stare on, some clap and chant. No one steps forward. Siara is no one’s friend.
Lydia walks away, her posse in chase. It’s not until she reaches her home, alone in her bedroom. The noise of her music blaring, shakes and rattles the walls and blocks out the noise of her mother’s screams and her father’s oppression, she allows herself to weep.