I hear her scream. My sister sounds panicked, confused, alone. It's shrill and loud and I can't get to sleep at night. It comes into my room through the crack under the door like wind through an open window.

I don't know how or why she does it. I don't know how to shut it out. I don't know how to stop it.

I tell her to be quiet. She doesn't listen; or she doesn't hear. Just screams.

It's louder and more high pitched tonight. I go to Mother and ask her to stop it but she doesn't understand. She says to leave my sister alone for once.

She can't hear it. No one can. It's only me.

I go to my sister myself. I climb on her bed and tell her to stop. She doesn't want to listen to me. Her hands cover her ears. She screams.

I yell. She stops. She doesn't want them to find her. She curls up in a ball and shuts her eyes.

I get up to leave. She screams.

I look down in dismay. My trousers are dirty and brown from where I knelt on my sisters grave.

She lies in her death bed underneath the ground, hiding from the men who killed her, screaming, haunted by the memory of her death.