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

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

To my brother and surrogate thank you for gifting me life to see the light in my unborn son's eyes,

The siren startles with its high-pitched fever, late summer night, sending folks scrambling down side streets or indoors. Cops are either...