Page 1 of Diamond
1
Rin
"What do we want?"
"FOOD, WORK, FREEDOM!"
"When do we want it?"
"NOW!"
"What do we want?"
The crowd marches together, as if they are being controlled by one thing. In a way, they are.
Our need for rights.
"Food, work, freedom!" I continue to chant with the group of women and very few men, my arms hurting from holding a cardboard placard for well over an hour.
We shout out our demands. I feel myself getting swayed by the crowd as a disturbance happens somewhere far away from me. I don't relent, yelling even louder as sweat rolls down my face.
The disturbance pushes through a few of us, and I spot a hand holding something silver being raised in the air. I call out again when a gunshot crackles through the air and we all scream and cower, using our signs as shields.
"Shut up and go home!" the man causing the disturbance yells—his gun still raised in the air.
I swallow the lump in my throat, looking around me to find everyone cowering in place, too scared to run. Why? He is only one man, and we are over two hundred women. He is outnumbered.
I suck in a deep breath and stand up straight from my crouching position as he continues speaking, insulting us. I raise my sign up as high as my aching hands can go, and I chant again at the top of my voice.
"Food, work, freedom!" I scream, my eyes not leaving his, even as I watch them transform from anger to something more sinister.
My chanting does not stop, and his face falls, convincing me that maybe it is working. I look down at my sisters in arms and convince them with my eyes to get up and join me, but they don't respond. Their eyes are staring straight ahead in frozen fear.
I turn around to see what is scaring them, but he is right there in front of me, the next moment with his hand wrapped around my neck, squeezing.
I can't breathe and my eyes water. My hands drop my sign and try to pry at his fingers, but it is all futile. He raises his gun to the air and shoots before forcing the hot gun between my lips, bruising them until I relent, the barrel burning my tongue.
"If you don't stop yelling and get off the streets, I will kill you first and every single one of them will be locked behind bars for the rest of their miserable lives," he yells in my face, spit flecking my cheeks.
I groan, hoping that it sounds like I'm saying yes, like I'm trying to.
He holds me there in place for a few seconds longer before pushing me to the ground as he lets me go. "You are a woman. Act like one," he spits before turning to the crowd and beginning to scream profanities at them, too.
Not long after, we scatter, me headed back to my brother's, internally seething that it's my only option. All the while hoping he and his wife haven't heard about today, though already knowing word has spread faster than I could ever walk.
They will be even more vigilant not to let me leave again and my chest aches, breath coming in gasps as I imagine decades of being locked in those suffocating walls.
***
This isn't much better than prison here in my brother's house, I grumble internally.
Then I chide myself sharply, remembering how women are treated there and thankingAllahfor the safe confines of this small room.
Still, I am stifled here. Unable to do what must be done to put an end to all the ceaseless terror. I can't forget any of the violence. Every memory drives me harder.
As always, it makes me think of Laila and that night when I accidentally forgot my bag in our classroom and when I came out to where she was waiting and heard her screams.
Saw the men in dark clothing holding her limp body as they hit her, punch after punch.