Not poems, but terrible facts
I was hidden in a toilet in a bar. My hands were trembling while I was holding my mobile phone. I dialled the number.
“Hello, this is Misia White speaking. You came to the hospital a few days ago. Can you remember, Officer Marziali?”
“Good morning, Lady. How are you?”
“I need to talk with you immediately,” I told her.
My voice was trembling. I was afraid that Philip could catch me, I was afraid that he could still beat me. I was terrified.
“If you tell me where you are, I will reach you immediately, Misia,” Officer Marziali told me.
“I am in the bar at the corner of Phillip Street and Caval Street. Hurry up, please!” I told her.
I came out of the bathroom, I took a seat at the far end of the little bar, and I wore my sunglasses.
The minutes that follo
