Annie's Aftermath

Annie’s hair matched her mother’s - a beautiful shade of brown cascading over her shoulders. She combed her fingers delicately through her hair, closing her eyes and pretending it was Nikawi’s. It was matted, but still as soft and lustrous as she remembered. Annie knew she wanted she wanted to be a hairstylist when she grew up.

She recalled her mother’s words, “Our hair connects us to our ancestors, little Annie. It makes us strong.”

Annie knew that if there was one thing that wasn’t going to be taken away from her, it was her hair. They’d taken everything; stripped her from her culture, her home, even ripped her from the last person she’d had left - her brother Kenny.

Annie’s throat tightened as she glanced at her brother, who was lying on his back beside her, a wet towel dampening his forehead, his hands balled in fists so tight, his knuckles were white and his dirty fingernails cut into his palms. He’s in pain, she thought. She’d heard a nurse earlier that day say something about a word called Tuberculosis, water filling his lungs… Boys and girls were supposed to be separated, usually. But here they were now; Annie and Kenny the inseparable twins, together again. Annie knew something was wrong. She just didn’t know what.