Walking the distance of a dream, I ascend the steps of a newly built pedestrian bridge linking Salibiya to the cemetery. Teenagers have inscribed encrypted memories and love messages on the sides of the bridge. Despite love being forbidden in our areas, I confidently walk up before descending by the bridge's rules. Children play in the dirt next to the area, dreaming while the nation casts dust over their future.

In the depths of Kuwait, I return with steps akin to the indecisiveness of the child on the novel's cover: looking to the right as if the curse of his kin covers the entire north of the country. I am nothing but a sacrifice in our land's furnace to preserve its blue genes. I glance left, cursing both those on my right and left, for they are merely new feudal lords, whether bearded or in short dresses, lacking land to share, so they split our lives as the devil's inheritance among themselves.