The Voice Of Oppressed

It was a dark night. The houses with snow-filled roofs caught my vision. The aroma from the chimneys of every house in the village touched my nose. The weather was glorious. The air was transparent yet very much fresh. The coal-black sky was sprinkled with sparkling tiny stars. The trees were enhanced by the silver rime. The houses were all polished by the falling snow. The breeze touched me smoothly as my blonde hair flew fearlessly. I was a girl of about 15 and never felt agitated as much as I felt on the dark night of snow. It was nothing about the future visions but all about the next days gathering. My thoughts seemed had went wild enough, and only by the balcony stood my body but not my thoughts. That's when a weary voice went through my ears.

"Sarah, dear come downstairs the kitchen table is already with dinner."

And I never meant to replicate her. Because I realized the weary voice belongs to my mother. My agile movement and the starvation didn't let me stand further on the cold chilling balcony of my little attic. I rushed downstairs as if I had seen something strange. There I saw the kitchen table all filled with fresh yogurt and pancake. The mouth-filling aroma insisted me on having a seat and gobbling them in. That's when my mother came near and started to give out a few words for the next days. Spending enough time and sitting across someone would totally help us to catch up with their thoughts. She with her lips all cold and white. The words were running around in my head. Why me? What did they gain? And I never could find the answer to these questions. There I was sitting across the kitchen table looking at my mother with her wine-soaked lips. I looked straight into the clock hanging in the wall with dusty glass. It had already struck into midnight. The food in the plate perished as I had gobbled them with a disturbing mind. My every footstep towards the little room all dark, damp and cold were slow and weary. I couldn't stop thinking about the next day.

The massive squabbling crowd, the officers, the men without any women around.

The sun had already stood in between the clouds spreading lights all over. The chirping of birds, the ready to melt snow, the trees with fresh droplets, and the clear blue vast sky made me rise and shine. There I was standing in front of a mirror wearing casuals and not having a smile but a widely tensed face. I caught up with my backpack and a loaf of bread.

I was walking through the way all filled with snow and bushes with silver rime. My mind was shooked, all the way just a few steps I could see the large squabbling crowd with flashing cameras all ready to question me with their devil thoughts. My heart started pounding, the sweat ran through my face even in the cold atmosphere.

I occupied a seat facing the mass on the stage and not knowing what would come out of their mouth.

"Why were you all alone in the dark at midnight? " A man of about the early '40s asked me with his wrinkled brows. As I heard this question from the squabbling mass, I took a quick run through the crowd with my eyes. And there at that moment, my lips flattered,

"Was that the mistake I have done? Don't a teenage girl have the right to stand in the dark waiting for the bus that too at midnight?"

This answer made the crowd even more fatal.

"Why did you hit a man who had come across to you at that time?" Asked another man from the crowd. This question had made me ever more preserved to raise my voice against the mass.

"Didn't he say that he had tried to abuse me in the dark space at the stop?"

Even though they knew the answer was "Yes", no voice from the crowd raised. It was complete silence. The officers, the men, the large crowd gazed me as if I had done a mistake and was laying the crook to the deadly mysterious man. I took my voice to speak my last oppressed words,

"What did you gain? Do you think you are asking these ridiculous questions for giving the right to the man who told you I had hit him with no reason? Do you the mass wanted to offer a bit of right for the oppressed girls staying in your house? You do know what is right and what is wrong, don't you? Now you may decide or not to close me in the room with rusty rails."

There I was sitting all doomed looking to the mass with a tired face who had finished asking the ridiculous questions from below the stairs. The voices have perished. The sky was still clear with clouds and a bright sun. There I saw far behind the calm crowd my weary mother with her pleasant face all turned up white in between the snow-filled big trees with silver rime.