On February 14th, I watched my mother get shot.
That moment shattered everything.
What followed was no childhood, no home—only survival.
Trapped, tortured, traded—I ran from one nightmare into another,
Until a girl with soft hands said, “Run.”
But even freedom carries chains that echo.
You ask who I am?
Trust me—
I ask myself the same question,
Every day, every night.
This isn’t a joke.
This isn’t just a poem.
This isn’t to frighten you.
It’s the truth—
A truth too heavy to tell out loud.
On February 14th,
I watched my mother get shot.
I saw the gun—
Heard it go off.
I found another gun.
I held it in my shaking hands,
But I didn’t pull the trigger.
I was too terrified.
My hands trembled.
My mind spun.
My heart pounded with horror.
And from that moment on,
My life became a chase
With no trail to follow.
I was frozen,
Paralyzed.
I looked up.
My father stood still, staring—
Doing nothing.
I turned—
My brother saw me.
And in a blink,
I hit the ground.
I woke to five men standing over me.
Endless pain.
Screams in my head.
Heartache trembling through my chest.
I wondered…
Would they ever stop?
Would this pain ever end?
My soul cries for these chains to break.
But the chains are tight.
My heart aches and shivers.
I’m a prisoner
In a world that never cared—
Alone in the dark,
Surrounded by endless pain.
Then I heard her voice.
My mother’s voice.
"Get up. Don’t give in."
I opened my eyes.
I was in the middle of an empty street.
Wandering.
Confused.
A man approached me,
Took me into his home.
But it wasn’t a home.
It was another hell.
They tortured me
Every day,
Every night.
They handed me a gun—
Told me to shoot.
And every time I blinked,
February 14th returned
Like a nightmare on loop.
And I wondered—
When will the chains fall away?
When will this ache dissolve?
When will the pain stop echoing in my bones?
My soul kept crying,
Let me go.
But the world held tight.
One day,
A girl approached me.
She gave me water
With her soft, bare hands.
I drank like I’d never tasted water before.
Her smile was beautiful.
But I couldn’t smile back.
She untied my chains.
Told me,
“Run.”
That’s how I met Cleo—
Bright, innocent, kind.
I took her hand,
And we escaped.
We wandered the same empty streets.
Until, on March 14th,
I met a woman
Who took us in.
She fed me.
Clothed me.
Then Cleo disappeared.
I ran after her—
But found no trace.
Only cut ropes
And a voice crying for help.
I followed it.
Found another girl.
Same men.
Same nightmare.
Fire roared all around us.
Smoke filled the air.
The five men stood there,
Holding her down.
One pressed a knife to her neck.
Another whispered,
“One last touch.
She’ll be a copy of her mother.”
They injected her.
Shot me in the leg.
And took her.
I roared,
Screamed until my voice gave out.
I crawled away,
Collapsed into silence.
And somehow—
I found my old friends.
They smiled at me.
I smiled back,
But inside I was crumbling.
I turned around.
Returned to my hometown.
It was February 14th again.
A full year had passed.
I burned the house.
Watched it fall to ash.
And no,
This isn’t a game.
This isn’t the end.
It’s only the beginning.
I returned to the woman—
Found her at the hospital,
Standing by Cleo’s bedside.
I whispered,
“What? No… I saw them take her.”
The woman said,
“She was in an accident.”
Was it all a nightmare?
Or was it a lie?
I didn’t care.
All I wanted was for Cleo to live.
Her boyfriend—
The man she trusted—
Offered to pay for Cleo’s recovery…
If I gave myself to him.
So I did.
Cleo lived.
And I returned to hell.
My soul cries,
Break these chains.
But the chains stay wrapped around me.
My heart trembles.
I am still trapped
In this cruel world—
Alone.
In the dark.
With endless pain.
Since that day,
Since February 14th,
I’ve kept fighting
Just to survive.
Even now—
I don’t know why.
I don’t even know who I am.
— by Helen Najar, Lionheart
