Innocence is such a fragile thing, such a vulnerable one. Innocence can be taken in so many ways, so many subtly evil ways that are not even noticed.

I was thinking about innocence today. How silently it leaves. How faintly it slips away, leaving nothing that reminds you of it but a scar. And I am reminded of the time that I, in one of the most brutal ways possible, lost some of my innocence.

***

I am 12 years old again and I am innocent. As I walk down the narrow market alley with my sister, Mariam, we laugh over a joke.

As I shift the bag of groceries from one hand to another, a large man came up in front of us. Barely paying attention to him, I continue to talk to my sister, and we laugh again. In the narrow alley, my sister squeezes ahead of me and past the man. I follow her; barely aware of what was going to happen.

As I brush past him, I feel a large, thick hand land on the back of my thigh and move up.

Up and around.

I feel so violated.