I wish to be Hama's bodyguard.

One day, 50 men attack her. I slay 49 of them instantly. But one of them manages to reach Hama and bruise her face a little before I can stop him.

I take Hama to her house and lay her to bed. She refuses to speak to me, for I have failed to protect her.

I walk to my own house and in a series of emails I arrange a replacement bodyguard for Hama. I fetch a thick rope from my garage, knot it, and hang it from a rafter. I kick the chair out from beneath me, and feel life quickly diminish into nothing but a firm, uncomfortable grip beneath my jaw, and a million images of Hama flashing through my mind, and then that too slips away, and all is nothing.