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Sepideh sat with her head on her hands, watching the body of a dead cockroach slowly become dismembered and removed by a colony of ants. In the background the sound of her mother getting ready for the impending departure. They were going to Aunty Shirins and every time they did that meant dealing with Ali. Ali was her elder cousin, and every time they went to visit she would have to play with him. This was never an appealing prospect.

She focussed on the ants; the meticulous columns that they formed from a hidden laid, shuffling limbs along like a factory line. Slowly, after the legs were removes, the main body of the cockroach rose from slumber. At first it crawled, motionless, propelled by an army beneath, a brick from a great pyramid. Then it began to gain speed as little bits shot off, a particularly contentious Ant deciding to work on their own. But all led to the lair for some gruesome, unknown purpose.

Her trance was broken by her mother who lifted her by the shoulder. “Come on child – what kind of lady spends her time staring a horrible little insects. Bodo – get moving.” She rose reluctantly and bud a melancholy farewell to the ants.

**

The sound of Aunty Shirins doorbell always made her shudder. The pleasantries of greeting the family one hasn’t seen for a long while made her feel ridiculous. She endured the cheek pinching and incessant comments about how tall she has gotten, questions about her school and how she finds her homework. Then she must stand around while all the grown ups gush over one another, and she becomes the focus of attention. She notices her mother’s makeup, which she wears so rarely that she looks clownish under it all. There is sickly smell to it. “Please do come inside; our house is yours,” beams Aunty Shirin as they enter. From the hallway with the line of shoes they pass into the guest reception room where the smell of recently removed sofa covers can be tasted. More smiles, greeting, hugging – the moment is approaching. She tries to forget it by looking at all the ornaments in the vitrine. Aunty Shiring has gathered a strange collection of dolls and china. There are Spanish flamenco gypsies with beautiful ered dresses twirling to a tune only they can head, a pink Barbie doll still in its case and various china cups, all with decorated with different flowers. She compared it with her plastic tea set, from which her menagerie of plastic animals have their tea parties.
“Sepideh!!” he mother called, the forced grimace of cordiality etched among her makeup. “Come and see Ali – its been so long.” she announced urging Sepideh along. She wondered whether Aunty Shirin ever played with these plates. She trotted over, little tiny steps moving her body like the ants, she being the dismembered cockroach. Her eyes focussed on the peacocks in the carpet as she approached him.

Ali stood at the table, a piece of chocolate cake in one hand and a brand new catapult in the other. He winced and then tried immediately to make the wince into a smile. No luck. “You two must have so much to catch up with,” the adults cheered. “Why don’t you head out into the Bagh to explore?” It was a rhetorical question. The children’s displeasure was simultaneously expressed, from Sepideh in the form of a sigh, and from Ali by a rather more vocal objection.
“I always have to look after her.” Aunty Shirin looked at him reproachfully, the daggers in her looks cutting him back into line. Indignance returned to him. “OK fine – come on,” he muttered and led her away from the grown ups, who were now seating themselves and already discussing boring things. “Have a nice time, and be careful down by the stream.”

**

The field that led down to the stream was full of tall grass. Its dance with the wind shimmered in the afternoon stillness. Crickets chirped, the only sound of the afternoon. Shafts of sunlight beamed through the tall stems. Ali walked ahead, and Sephideh followed him at a distance. She had tried to walk level with him as they left the adults but he had turned to her; “I don’t want anyone knowing you’re with me, so you walk 20 paces behind me,” he scowled.. His tone confused her, because no one was in this part of the garden, and all of the adults knew they were together anyway. She obeyed, and followed trying not to make much sound. They waded through the sea of gold, the sound of the stream rippling in the distance. Sepideh looked around at the world around her, wondering how many ants there were here.
Suddenly Ali stopped abruptly in the distance, and ducked down, submerging himself into the grass. Sepideh stopped to watch him. He crept his way through the grass and behind the tall walnut tree by the stream, imitating a soldier in a movie. She ran up to join him. He seemed to have forgotten his earlier command, and now accepted her behind him. Through a gap in the grass he pointed out a fat wood pigeon, pecking at the seeds which had fallen from the nearby trees. “Watch this,” he whispered to her as he fished a shiny ball bearing from his trouser pocket. He loads it into the catapult with practised care, his soft fingers caressing it nimbly. Drawing back the elastic of the catapult, he took aim. The pigeon pecked on oblivious. Sepideh watched, her face an equal measure of confusion and curiosity – he pulled the elastic back so far she was sure it would snap. The sound of crickets and stillness filled the apprehension in them both. He exhaled and released the ball, feeling the power of the elastic thrust forward from his grip. The ball bearing shot through the air, almost carving the afternoon with its power. It hit the bird square between the wings. Instantly the calm of the afternoon vanishes into the flailing of the brid, writhing in the clearing where it pecked just moments earlier.
Both children ran to where it struggled. The futile efforts to take to the air calling them to it. The stood over it, Sepideh in quite contrast to Ali’s screaming; “Eww, that’s disgusting.” They watched on as it continued to writhe, slower now as exhaustion began to burn its muscles. A moment passed. “ Come on, lets go down to the river,” Ali said, more a suggestion than a command. She looked at him quizzically.
“You mean you’re going to leave it?” she asked. “Like this?”
“Well what do you expect me to do?” came the indignant reply. He had already begun to put distance between himself and the bird, looking back at her.
“Why don’t you finish what you started?” she asked innocently, naivety pouring out with the words themselves. The flapping continued below her, trickles of blood pouring from the wound. The mishappen wing looked grotesque in the sun.
“If you want to kill it, then why don’t you do it yourself?” he glared back at her indignantly. The birds chest heaved now, trying to put some air into its burning wings. She looked at Ali for a moment. Then she looked at the bird at her feet. A moment passed as she pondered. Then she moved towards him. He seemed satisfied and turned to continue down to the stream. But she didn’t reach him. She began to lift various rocks from the path looking for one. Once Ali realised that she was not following him he turned and watched her, as she found a rock from the side of the path. Her strength faltered slightly as she tried to lift it, the weight of the stone causing her to rock unsteadily. Her frail arms shook with mass, taking both hands to hold the stone as she waddles back to the bird. It’s motion was sporadic now tired, exhausted, yet with the brightness of life still fresh in it’s eyes. She lifted the rock above it as far as her arms could. Ali stared wide eyed at the little girl before him, her looked back at him, meeting his gaze with humanity, and the hope of forgiveness. Then she released the; it rock fell from her arms, its weight driving half the bird into the brown earth below, cutting its intermittent motion into lifelessness. She was breathing hard now, the weight of the rock and the action bearing its vengeance on her small body. The look that passed between her and Ali then felt different. He did not speak. Even the crickets seemed to have lost their words. As he looked back with jaw hanging, the catapult that he held slipped from his grasp, it’s fall cushioned by the soft grass. Then he began to run, back to the house, leaving Sepideh by the carcass and the river.