The name of the girl is unknown.
Her story is unknown.
Her thoughts are unknown.
What is known is her image.
God created her in his own image.
She is an Indonesia Beauty.
Her eyes are searching.
She looks into the distance as she vaguely hears the rhythm of prayers being chanted behind her.
The prayer voices surround her, yet she seems distracted; uninterested.
Her delicate fingers cling to the fence. She is frozen at the gate. Emprisoned by the mosque's powerful iron doors and to fearful to escape.
As she notices my presence, she shyly hides her face, but then continues to look through the opening.
She stands alone among a crowd of people.