A Spark Of Hope

I present myself in front of the family, expressing my dreams of being a world-renown author and activist; a passion I have been confining behind bars for years.

“Hassan, has your daughter forgotten she’s a girl?! The proper place for you is the kitchen my darling girl” my uncle chuckles in disbelief. I feel my face tense up into an uncontrollable frown. My father’s eyes search the room, unwanted glares directed at him signalling to break the silence.

“Farah, my beautiful daughter, I believe you can attain any goal you put your mind to but our country doesn’t present such opportunities for a-…” he pauses and strokes his beard as he searches for the right words. I step closer to him and place my palm on his cheek, gently leading his face to meet mine.

“Baba, you can say it for what it is. I can’t accomplish my dreams in this country…” I confess in a respectful yet blunt manner. “I must leave this country to even consider pursuing such dreams”, I exclaim searching for my father’s reaction. He tightens his eyebrows and tilts his head, pausing to gaze into my eyes as if taking an x-ray scan of all my scattered thoughts.

“You’re telling me you want to flee to a western country habibti?” he questions in an unjudgmental and curious way. The answer to this question was established the second he examined my eyes; he witnessed as his young girl was no longer a young girl. How long can one stay a young girl when they have faced so many harsh realities of discrimination and corruption at such a young age? I look back into the eyes of my father, no verbal or physical expression required, this was the only confirmation he needed.

After school, I head towards the crowd congregated in the bazaar. I raise my poster with vibrant red letters entitled, “women must decide their own fate” as we commence our chanting. As time passes, the other protesters and I simultaneously realize we’re being closed in by government authority. Suddenly, I see dark bulbous figures being tossed from above my head. They blow out harsh gushes of smoke that sting the eyes. I vigorously rub my eyes and attempt to suppress my squeals of pain. I notice an opening as they attempt to detain protesters in the opposite direction. Unlocking all willpower, I sprint with my arms protecting my head. I see an obscure but familiar humanoid figure running toward me. It’s my sister Nasra.

“NOO!!! RUN AWAY!!” I call out breathlessly.

We halt once we arrive home; fountains of tears escape our clasp. I have to stay strong for both of us; I grip Nasra’s hand and looking into her eyes signal for her to slow down her breathing. After explaining to my parents, they share a momentary gaze as if telepathically transmitting information.

“You can’t stay here. We're going to get you to Australia”, my father discloses. What’s this?... A spark of hope.

FOLLOW US



Write4Fun.net was established in 1997, and since then we have successfully completed numerous short story and poetry competitions and publications.
We receive an overwhelming positive feedback each year from the teachers, parents and students who have involvement in these competitions and publications, and we will continue to strive to attain this level of excellence with each competition we hold.

KEEP IN TOUCH

Stay informed about the latest competitions, competition winners and latest news!