I wrote these short stories to raise awareness about honour killings. The UN estimates up to 5,000 occur each year and many go unreported.

2008 AWARD Copywriting Finalist

Hammer

I began to feel Sofia's blood dry up on my body.  I haven't washed since we got to the police station and the pungent smell of death lingers in the air.  I replay the events of the night over and over again.  First her struggle, and then how I delivered every blow after blow to her head, until it was just a bloody mess of broken skull and brains.  And then, when I get to the part where she is just about to die, I freeze the frame.  I study her face - how sorry she looked for every mistake she had made in her twenty-six years, and how she was especially sorry for what she had done to Sayid.  And suddenly I remember about Sayid. What the hell had happened to Sayid?

The day just wasn't like any other day.  Sayid didn't whistle while we worked on Mrs Khan's rosewood cabinet.  He didn't complain about Pakistan's loss to Ireland in the World Cup that year. And he didn't play his favourite band, Mizraab, full blast as we drove home for the day.  Today, Sayid was pissed. Real pissed.

"That fucking bitch", he cursed as he punched the dashboard of his decrepit Datsun 120Y. Ah.... That Fucking Bitch.  He was talking about his wife Sofia - a five foot nothing sack of potatoes with a face like an English bulldog.  I despised the bitch.  The woman was opinionated and disrespectful, and as far as I was concerned, a pathetic excuse for a wife.  Once, she even dared to talk back to Sayid when he accused her of bringing dinner late. Nobody, and I mean nobody, deserved to be married to a wench like that, especially not my best friend, Sayid.

"She shamed me..." Sayid confessed lowering his eyes solemnly.  "She talked to another man", he muttered angrily and then paused for a second.  "How dare she talk to another man!" he yelled, this time smacking his palm on the cracked plastic steering wheel.  I was speechless.  Shocked.  Disgusted.  How could Sofia do this? She was Sayid's property and had no right to talk to another man.  As I sat there and thought about what this would do to Sayid's reputation, my anger grew.  I fantasised about how I would break her neck, crack open her skull, smash every two hundred and six bones in her wretched body.  The slut made me sick.

We drove the rest of the way home in silence.  Sayid didn't utter a word but I could tell his mind was racing - trying to make sense of what Sofia had done, wondering what he had done to deserve this, and thinking about what he was going to do. What was he going do?

When we got home, Sofia was laying on the floor flicking through an old issue of Visage.  We stood at the doorway for a couple of minutes examining her putridness - her mangled pink toenails tapping on the dirty vinyl floor and the fat from her upper arm wobbling as she turned the pages of the magazine.  The woman was vile. And contemptuous - even though she knew we were there she didn't even bother looking up.  Sayid, however always the opportunist, took that as an invitation to grab her by her black greasy hair and drag her across the room.

"What are you doing? You're hurting me!" Sofia screamed pulling at Sayid's hands.  What the hell did she expect? A fucking bunch of roses?  "You stupid whore. I saw what you did and now you are going to pay".  Sofia saw her husband's eyes filled with nothing but hate and revenge and she started to scream for help.  But her screams were futile.  In just a matter of seconds, Sayid had a cushion to her face and was pushing down with all his might.  At long last, Sayid was going to kill Sofia and I was going to watch.

Sadly, however, things did not go as planned.  With Sofia's arms and legs thrashing about, her right knee managed to connect with Sayid's groin sending him crashing to the ground, and giving Sofia an opportunity to escape.  But luckily for Sayid, I was right there next to him and jumped in to help out.  And, well, you know what happened next...

So now, here I sit, waiting for them to come and get me.  I forget about Sofia for a moment and think about Sayid.  Where is he?What has he told them? I want to tell him not worry and that I'll take the rap for everything. After all, what are they going to do? Arrest me for murder? Put me in jail? They won't. They can't. I'm only a rusty old hammer.

Thousands of honour killings go unreported every year. If you know something please speak out. Because if you don't, who will?

www.stophonourkillings.com