Liberties There's nothing Artificial about our Intelligence

Under the rubble, her body has remained for days and days. When the war ends, we try to remove the rubble, stone after stone. We only find a bone from her body. It is a bone from her arm. Right or left, it does not matter as long as we cannot find the henna from the neighbors’ wedding on her skin, or the ink from a school pen on her little index finger.