Valiant Scribe
A literary hub giving voice to the voiceless by retelling the human experience

shallow breathing - high piercing sirens screech in the streets - crouching shoulders - whispers - fences keeping enemies of the state in -

The clouds above you form as the moon rises, you try to give them a sense of purpose, you know that the messenger with the bad news won’t...

My home in Syria, loud bangs I hear, my hands on my ears, mama say bombs fall from the sky, she grab me down the stairs like she is the wind