They killed my parents. They drafted my big brothers. And they kidnapped me. All because we had a Bible.

It's not right, they say, for Muslims to turn into Christians. They say we are bad.

I disagree in my mind. Last time I said anything, they hit me. My lower lip is very swollen.

We are walking, walking, walking. My legs are so tired. But I don't stop moving, because they'd hit me for that, too.

We've been walking for four days now. Ever since the big Muslim soldiers shot my mama and papa, I've felt so tired. So very tired. They give me little water and I haven't eaten since lunch the day the soldiers came.

I want food, but if I asked, I'd probably get hit.

But sometimes the hit is worth it so you don't pass out. My stomach growls loudly, drawing the attention of one soldier. He has a big beard.

"Was that you, Runt?" he growls. I shrink back from his anger. He stares me up and down, and I feel my little cross necklace, hidden in my big pocket, clear as anything.

Before I can answer him, another guard throws something at me. Hard. It hits me right in the face. It's dirt.

"Eat that, Princess!" he laughs. I wipe it away with my hand, nose stinging as I fight back tears.

They are all monsters. This world is full of monsters.

That night, I am trying to find a comfortable position on the rocky earth when Big Beard comes over. He tries to grab my hand, but I swat him away. Papa warned me about people like this soldier. Big Beard leers,

"How old are you, Princess?" I hold my head up high.

"My name is Aisha."

"Fine, Princess Aisha. How old are you?" I look at him; he is all strong and big.

"I am eleven," I say. He leers again,

"Well, you certainly are pretty." I stand up, frightened. He stands up as well, towering very high above me. As he steps closer to me, I do the only thing I can think to do. I bolt.

I make it farther than I thought I would. Still, they are trained military soldiers. The young soldier, probably nineteen, catches me.

They all beat me till I am black and blue all over. When they finally go to their tents to sleep, I lay there, unable to move. I cry out silently to the heavens.

Jesus, why is this happening to me? Aren't I a good girl? It hurts so much. Please help me!

There isn't a physical answer. But I don't have nightmares when I fall asleep.