The Lion’s Roar

The winged lion reminds me of the fearless Doctor Balewa who treated me after I was gang raped by militants.  I was a complete wreck but this man of God not only restored me physically but psychologically.   He helped me to regain my dignity.  I found the courage and strength to pick up the pieces of my life.  In the process, I’ve found God and have given my life to Christ. 

I know that this may sound strange to a lot of people but, I’ve forgiven the men who raped and brutalized me.  I don’t hate them.  Hate doesn’t do anyone any good and it’s toxic.  I pray for them instead.   And I pray for their other victims.  I pray that like the lion which is mighty among beasts and does not turn away from anything, Doctor Balewa will not back down from his fight to eradicate sexual and gender-based violence.   

As for me, every opportunity I get, I tell my story.  After all, an injured lion still wants to roar.

172 Words

I was inspired by the true story of Denis Mukwege, the Christian doctor who has dedicated his life to caring for victims of rape in the Democratic Republic of Congo.  Just recently he was the recipient of the 2018 Nobel Peace Prize.

This was written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers hosted by Priceless Joy.  For more information visit Here.  To read more stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Sources:  Christian Headlines; Answers From the Book; Bible Gateway; Brainy Quote

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The Burnses

Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding

 

Chuck and Millie Burns were enjoying another day at the beach.   The weather was overcast but it didn’t dampen their mood.  The cool breeze and the smell of the sea air felt really good.

An hour later, they pulled up in the driveway and were getting out of the car when several squad cars showed up. Startled, they looked around wondering what was going on.  “Chuck and Millie Burns, you are under arrest for torture and child endangerment”  Handcuffs were slapped on them and they were led away, faces red and heads hanging.  They were bundled into a squad car and driven away.

It turns out that the police were alerted when the couple’s 15 year old daughter escaped the house where she and her nine siblings were locked up and starved.  Neighbors were shocked.  “They seemed like such a nice couple,” one woman said.  “Their children didn’t say much or play with the other kids but we just thought they were shy.  It goes to show you that you really don’t know people.”

The Burnses are currently being held in custody on six counts of torture and eight counts of child endangerment.

192 Words

I read of the couple who had 13 children because they felt it was God’s calling but those poor children were subjected to torture, endangerment, neglect and starvation.  They gave the impression that they were a devout Christian couple who had all of those children because it was “God’s calling”.  I’m pretty sure that torture, confinement, endangerment and starvation weren’t His calling.

This was written for Sunday Photo Fiction hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit Here.  To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Source:  Mirror

Asya Speaks Out

Photo by Sue Vincent

The magnificent view of the snow-capped mountains and surrounding beautiful landscape which usually filled Asya with peace failed to do so this morning.   There was political uncertainty in Sweden as the anti-immigrant party made historic gains in Sunday’s election.  There was talk of refugees and immigrants being sent back to their countries by those who had no regard for what awaited them.   She knew firsthand what it was like to be torn from the country of refuge and returned to your country of origin.

At the age of 15, her parents took her back to Turkey after she finished ninth grade to marry a man 20 years her senior.  They had three children.  Those were the worst years of her life and she dreamed of returning to Sweden.  Fifteen years later, after her husband died in a work related accident, she returned to Stockholm with the children.

It was a shock for her when she recently saw the brochure offering tips to those who were married to children.  Enraged, she wrote an article on the horrors of child marriage, her own experience and why Sweden needed to be very clear that it wouldn’t tolerate such a practice.  It needed to protect the welfare of its immigrant population and stop worrying about being culturally insensitive.

It was a two page article in which she concluded, “I urge you to think about Beeta, the teenage girl who was murdered by her husband after they arrived here from Iran.  If we hadn’t been so concerned with offending a culture which fosters a practice which, in my opinion, is criminal, she may still be alive.  Instead of being concerned with the culture, protect the individual.  We need to be more responsible for the immigrants whom we let into the country and afford them the same rights and protection regardless of whether or not they are ethically Swedish.”  Her article was published in Stockholm News and was very well received.  Many shared her views and Twitter went viral, calling for the government to do something to end child marriage in a country known for its commitment to child welfare.

Asya turned now to look at the shelter she ran for victims of honor-based violence and oppression.  Most of them were the same ages as her daughters.  She determined that she would continue to fight for them and those who weren’t in her care.  Unlike the politicians and the government, she was going to be morally sensitive to the victims of forced marriages and speak out because as long as child marriage exists it will stand in the way of gender equality.  She had to do this for Beeta and others like her.

Marriage is for adults, not for children.  Children have the right to be children.

This story is based on true events.  Sweden struggles over child marriage and many are calling for the rights of children of foreign backgrounds to be protected.

This story is in response to the Thursday Photo Prompt – Turning for Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo.

Sources:  The Guardian; Psychology; Politico; Express

The Dream/Circle #writephoto

She stared at the photo, her face turning white as a sheet.  It looked exactly like the place in her dream.  The eerie woods with its tall trees and overgrown grass that looked like hay scattered on the ground and the strange stones arranged in a circle.  She was afraid to tell John for fear that he would think that she having a relapse.

Three years ago, she had suffered a nervous breakdown after and it had taken a long time for her to recover.  She was fine until she started having the same dream shortly after she celebrated her fortieth birthday.

It began with her walking through the woods and it appeared to her that it was in the early 1900s for she wore a gown which swept the ground as she walked.  Why she would venture into the woods unaccompanied, she had no idea.  Perhaps it was the adventurous spirit in her.  She would walk and walk, until she came to the stones.  Curious, she would approach them.  They held a strange fascination for her.

There was something unearthly about them.  She went to the largest one and after a moment’s hesitation, she reached down and touched it.  Suddenly, she was lying on her back, looking up at a man, dressed as a priest dressed in blue and saffron robes and the crackling sound of flames followed by unbearable heat.  And then she would wake up, feeling as if her body was on fire.

What did this dream mean?  Was she losing her mind again?  She was afraid to tell anyone.  She didn’t want to go back to the psychiatric ward.

Her hand trembled as she held the photo.  She would show it to John and ask him about it and she had to be perfectly calm about it.

After dinner that night when they were relaxing on the sofa, she showed the photo to him.  “John, I saw this in the desk drawer,” she said.  “When was it taken?”

“I was working on a story about Temple Wood and I found this photo in the archives.  I think it was taken in the early 1900s.  It was in these woods where it is believed that a missing adolescent girl was burned alive on this large stone–known as the Druid altar.”  He pointed to the same stone she had touched in her dream.  “Her name was Alice Frawley.  She would have been forty if she were still alive today.”

She felt a cold fear clutch at her heart.  “Do–do you have a photo of her?”

“I believe so.   I’ll go and get it.”

He returned a while later and handed it to her.  “Sorry, it took me so long to find it.  I’m not sure why it wasn’t with the other photo.”

She took one look at it and fainted.

Startled, he took the photo out of her hand and examined it closely.  He scrambled to his feet and ran for the photo album.  He flipped through the pages until he came to the photo of Annie when she was a teenager.  His face went white when he saw the uncanny resemblance between her and Alice.

This was written in response to the Thursday Photo Prompt – Circle by Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo. Click on the link to read other stories inspired by the image.

Source:  Voices From the Dawn

Daraja’s New Life

Daraja loved this small Italian coastal town, surrounded by the Tyrrhenian Sea.  It was nothing like her home, Sokoto, Nigeria’s poorest village.

Four years ago, at age 16, she had to quit school when her widowed father died.  Her older brother worked as a mechanic while she sold bread and water.  Then, a neighbor told her about a friend who could help her to find a job in Italy.

Unfortunately, that friend turned out to be a “connection man”.  Daraja was held in a warehouse outside of Tripoli and forced into prostitution.  Months later, she was taken to Garaboli to wait for the boat to Italy.  Once in Sicily, she didn’t call her madam, but went to a local humanitarian NGO where she met Gaetano, a wonderful man, twice her age.

Initially, he was fatherly towards her but then they fell in love.  She patted her stomach.  Their second child was on the way.

She saw Gaetano and their son, Alessandro coming up the road.  She waved.  Gaetano waved back but Alessandro ran towards her.

 

175 Words

This story is based on true stories of young Nigerian girls who are forced into prostitution.  They are taken to Libya where they take a rubber boat to Italy where they are to call their madam at the mobile number their “connection man” gave them.

It was written as part of Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.  For more information visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

 

Sources:  Earth Porm; News Deeply; Ventures Africa

Mateo

Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding

The framed shirt of soccer icon Diego Maradona hanging on the wall was a painful reminder of what happened several weeks ago.  In a parking lot of a bar in Medellín, her fiancé Mateo was gunned down because he scored an own goal which led to his team’s elimination from the World Cup.  Their wedding was to take place later that year.  He was only 25.  In memory of his death, his older brother, Santiago founded the Mateo Garcia Project to help disadvantaged children learn to play soccer.

She sat in a sports bar in New York City, surrounded by soccer fans preparing to watch the match between France and Argentina.  She avoided looking at the television set.

She glanced at her watch.  Santiago should be here any minute.  It was his idea to come here for brunch.

“Sorry, I’m late,” he apologized when he joined her.  “Traffic was heavy.”

“You’re not late,” she said.  “I came five minutes ago.”

“How’re you, Valeria?”

“Mateo Jr. and I are doing fine,” she said, patting her stomach.

Santiago looked regretful.  “His Dad should be here.”

“He is here,” she said, covering her heart.  “Where he will always be.”

 

196 Words

 

This was inspired by the true story of Andres Escobar who lost his life when he scored an own goal in the World Cup 1994 match between Colombia and the United States.  It was written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction.  For more details visit Here.

To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Source:  Wikipedia

The Nightmare

Copyright Susan Spaulding

She stood at the window.  Radio City Music Hall was on her left.  Below, people carried on with their lives, oblivious to her plight.

She had left one prison only to end up in another type—without bars but more confining.  She was trapped inside the world of sex trafficking.  In exchange for being released from prison she was forced to become a sex worker.  If she didn’t comply, her bond would be rescinded and she would be thrown back into jail.  Prison life for an African American woman would be intolerable.

She had been arrested on prostitution charges, which were false.  She had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and when the others were rounded up, she was too.  Her protests fell on deaf ears and found herself in a cell, looking through the bars, terrified.  She had no one to help her.

When she heard that her bail was posted and that she was going to be released, she was surprised but relieved.  And then her nightmare really began…

She turned away from the window and began to undress.  The senator lay there watching her, waiting, like all predators with their victims.

197 words

This story was inspired by an article on US Sex Trafficking where sex traffickers target incarcerated women, forcing them to become sex workers after posting their bail and having them released from prison.  The women had to do what they were told or risk going back to prison.  Sex trafficking is a heinous practice that needs to be banned.

This post was written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction. For more details visit Here.  To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Source:  Freedom United