i have written this imaginative piece on who's reality, however i cannot not seem to relate it back to the book i am currently reading at school. do read and leave feedbacks. i also have a FLAP+C to write which i could relate everything back to, but i don't know how. thank you.
Memories help us maintain a grip on reality
LAST STORY
My story went the same as all the rest. I was walking home from my fathers clothing store as four men from my village stopped me. At first they whistled at me, thinking it was no big deal, I just continued to walk ahead, and then they stood up, closing around me, Knowing that I couldn't defend for myself alone, I immediately started screaming as one of them grabbed me from the waist. They dragged me onto the side of the road as they started to tear my clothes off. Still screaming, my voice drowning my ears in noises I wasn't so familiar with, I started to cry, turning me around, shoving one of the torn materials into my mouth as they shoved my face onto the ground. I could feel the cold wet soil on my face as I gagged on the cloth. My vision blurred as I sobbed more and more. They each took rounds as if I were a game. My body had numbed by the end of it. The screaming had stopped. The crying had stopped. As they were leaving, they turned me around, smiled and said " you were great, love" and left. Lying there naked all I could think of was " baba is going kill them". I gathered what was left of my clothes and ran home, as pain ran through my body.
Over 1000 women get raped here every year, but it is yet to be acknowledged my many, my father included. When I first told my mother she had said to me "Amira, don't ever tell your father". I didn't expect her to react that way, being at a state where I thought my life would end, she told me to keep quite. I didn't quite grasp the idea at first but I knew she was protecting me. See where I live women are objects, we cook, we clean, we birth and we keep silent all for our glorious husbands. Never had I thought like that because when my mother told me to keep it quite in the situation I was in, it was like a blow to my face. I was raped by four men whom I have seen before but I was told to be silent. "The offenders weren't really the offenders," she explained, " the world we live in is a mans world. They feed us, they work for us, they supply us with kids, all we have to do is remain pure for them". Confused about what I was hearing I complied with my mother. I didn't really understand this world until then. Basically my mother had told me that I was a mans handbag, all I had to do was remain clean meaning I needed to be virgin when he 'bought me' from my parents.
Bangladesh holds the worlds highest rape cases around the world unfortunately; I was added on to that statistic, making me another victim to a horrible attack. See I didn't see myself as a victim. I was not blinded by the falseness men had sought us to believe so they could snatch what they wanted, when they wanted. Because something was stolen from me that day, something that did not belong to them because my virginity was purity that god had embedded in me to give it to who ever I pleased, to me it was not for them to take. Many say what I did was horrendous, crazy, wild, animal like. You could describe me any way you like but I believe what I did was an act of bravery, for myself and all those women who had experienced what its like to be forced into an act which silenced them.
They got what they deserved. Silencing them was an act of mercy upon their souls because when my body was angled for their preferences, there was no mercy. Till this day society has a preconceived idea of what really happened that night. Sometimes they say I was asking for it, The sheer cloth on my head was very much see through that the minute those men laid eyes on me, they couldn't help themselves, others say I should have just kept silent, making me another victim to horrible crime but I said 'no'. This might be a man's world but a man wouldn't be alive without a women. Those men didn't think about their mothers, daughter or sisters when my naked body lay in front of them, so please don't tell me what I did was wrong because you will never know what its like to be raped. The closest description I can give you is its like a bullet entering your scalp as the rest of your skull decides to shatter open and is then put back together for the next person to take aim. Hours are left for my last breath, but at least now I can stand before god, holding my hands up saying "I just took revenge against the devils slaves".
My story went the same as all the rest. I was walking home from my fathers clothing store as , four men fromof my village stopped me. At first they whistled at me , thinking it was no big deal, I just continued to walk ahead, and then they stood up, closing around mecame towards me, Knowing that I couldn't defend for myself alone, I immediately started screaming as one of them grabbed me from the waist. They dragged me onto the side of the road asand they started to tear my clothes offtearing my clothes.
Over 1000 women get raped here every year, but it is yet to be acknowledged myby many, my father included. When I first told my mother she had said to me "Amira, don't ever tell your father". I didn't expect her to react that way, being at a state where I thought my life would end, she told me to keep quite. I didn't quite grasp the idea at first but I knew she was protecting me. See where I live women are objects, we cook, we clean, we birth and we keep silent all for our glorious husbands. Never had I hadthought like that because when my mother told me to keep it quite in the situation I was in, it was like a blow to my face. I was raped by four men whom I have seen before but I was told to be silent. "The offenders weren't really the offenders," she explained, " the world we live in is a man's world.
Bangladesh holds the worlds highest rape cases around the world unfortunately; I was added on to that statistic, making me another victim to a horrible attack.
You could describe me any way you like but I believe what I did was an act of bravery, for myself and all forthose women who had experienced what its like to be forced into an act which silenced them.
They got what they deserved. Silencing themTo be silence was an act of mercy upon their souls because when my body was angled for their preferences, there was no mercy.
