No one,no matter how articulate, could put in words how deep her rage was. It felt like a volcano was building up inside her fragile soul. she could feel every bits of it crushing through her veins than erupting inside her wounded heart boiling her arteries out. it was unbearable. how can a burned artery carry a life?. she wanted to die!.
That afternoon her husband was due to address the stuff of his company on his resignation, after math the horrifying incident, and later on the people of his tribe.
No one denied that Mudane.maxamed dowood was the most approachable politician in their state, whether in the city or his home town village.

It was a time where in the city of “Galkacyo” was smothered with many assassinations of symbolic and actual figures that filled any position. It was like as if progress was a crime, as if the city was denied any step forward towards peace and reconciliation.
You should remain ordinary in this city or worse unknown to be pardoned otherwise you will be another target, a story on people’s tongues for few days. 
Mudane. Maxamed was neither ‘ordinary nor unknown’. On the contrary he was a man of the people 
A man at his fifties. Mildly handsome and relatively tall with a circular hairless face, with a strong physical built; his presence was hardly ignored at any space.
“Mudane; are you ready?.. It’s about time we start” his old assistance Mr. Ibrahim entered the room quickly without knocking.
“No” he said quietly with a blank face
Ibrahim grew grim trying to be normal in this aggravated situation 
“I really don’t know what to say, I know that we’re deeply in a great ordeal here... ”
“ORDEAL?..Really? That’s all you could think of?” Maxamed interrupted furiously nearly shouting “ordeal is when your son is suffering from an early stages of a disease, ordeal is when you’re betrayed by your loving loyal partner, or perhaps when you’re fired from your job”
“But this...” he continued with a lowered tone. “This is indescribable” he became silent for a moment.
“The feeling of a man awaiting an execution is far beyond an ordeal. Perhaps it’s an ordeal for you or my wife, perhaps to my stuff. But an ordeal, Ibrahim,... an ordeal is often temporary” he took a breath “and its likely to resolve or go away. This is permanent for me” his voice broke shaking.
Ibrahim, who had known Mohammed and worked closely with him for over fifteen years, was like a father to him. Burning inside with parenthood empathy and unconditional love he didn’t know what to respond. 
But he tried anyway. He gathered his utmost strength. He got closer to him; sat on his knees in front of him and looked straight at his eyes. They were blank at first sight but as you stare for a bit longer you can spot the reflection of despair. Their eyes met for a moment of honesty they both knew the truth; this was unsolvable. 
“Maxamed, you saying that this situation is indescribable is very lame and false thing to say” he gripped his hands and hold them firmly as if he’s forcing him to listen “maybe it’s not an ordeal for you. But it was a fuckup. that's what it is. your fuckup. Now listen to me son, you’re a great person and so you will remain even if you die. Dying is inevitable, but what matters most is how you lived. your legacy You’re encrypted in this city’s memory, everyone knows you, and your biography will be crafted in gold “
“So what if you fucked it up, so what if you made a mistake and killed that asshole, who, God forgive me, deserved it. Go out there and exit as you entered to this city a hero. Show them what you’re capable of, show no weakness nor fear because great people never display remorse for their action”