The doorknob didn't just turn; it rattled against the old mortise lock with a violent, wet urgency. The blue ink inside the clear barrel of the Bic pen in my hand throbbed, a tiny, neon heartbeat that cast long, distorted shadows across the peeling green paint of the hospital room walls. My knees shook against the cold iron of the bedframe, the septic wound in my thigh tearing open slightly under the strain, sending a warm trickle of fresh blood down my bare leg.
"Mama..." the voice through the wood was louder now, thicker, wet with the choking mud of the Dodoma fields. "Uncle Leo is so cold. He says you kept the warm blanket for yourself. Open the door, Mama."
I took a step backward, my bare feet slipping on the slick, cold concrete floor. The amnesia was a thick, black wall inside my s
