Write a Short Fiction Story

Discussion in 'Fiction Writing' started by Anoetar, Jul 22, 2017.

  1. Anoetar

    Anoetar New Member

    My Story
    It is the job of a woman to obey blindly. We are all but properties, properties of men. We are also sex slaves. These are words not coined by me but all came from my mother’s mouth Words told to a 12 years old just after I was raped by my horny father.

    “You have to learn how to bear these things”, she said.

    “It only gets worse”, she said

    The only thing to my name is a high school certificate

    As property, I was exchanged for dowry. Well, not a full dowry since I was already defiled goods. Ironically, I was shamed for this by my family knowing it was not my fault. But thanks to my mother lurking around, always there to give uplifting words like “it is a man’s world. It is our job to protect the men of the house”

    As a married woman at age 17, I had no friends. My constant companions were the harsh words from my husband and the mocking noises of the pests. Reading was not an option. My husband would say that reading corrupts a woman’s hearts and deviates her from her true existence. Being such a rebel, I was never satisfied with my lot in life. My mantra was “There has to be more to this life”. But did nothing about it.

    I lived with an abusive and a cheating husband for 5 years with no children. It is not that I could bear children. In fact, I was too fertile. I can’t count the number of times I was pregnant and I can’t count the number of times those pregnancies were beaten out of me.

    But as a woman, I had to take the blame. I had to agree I was barren.

    Things all changed when I was locked out of my own home for 4 hours because my husband’s female visitor was uncomfortable with my presence.

    That fateful evening, I cooked weeping my eyes out. It was typical of my husband to throw tantrums. But that was not a typical evening for me. I was in a rage.

    My husband was too irritated by me that he tried slapping but that was his mistake. He ran into my knife.

    Yes, he ran into my knife10 times. I watched him bleed to death on the cold hard tiles. I watched him take his late breath as he tried calling my name, only to say “AD…”.

    I have never felt so free than I felt that day.

    But here I am in a court room with my fate yet again being determined by men.

    Am I murder? Yes, I am.

    Did he deserve it?

    Will I ever feel free?

    But most importantly, will you the jury find be guilt?
  2. OneTimeMan

    OneTimeMan New Member

    Cool story, I'd like to here more. Have you continued writing this one, or is it the end? I just hope she wasn't thrown in jail for murder.

    What setting did you decide for this short story, is it USA? I, personally, pictured an African country.
  3. Adrienne Lessie

    Adrienne Lessie New Member

    I find you completely guilt-free, it's called self-defense for a reason just with some brutality to ensure you'll be safe in the end and I agree with OneTimeMan. I envisioned a three world country as your setting, not specifically Africa but somewhere women are as equal to cattle. Where ever it is, she's being trialed rather than stoned, hung, or any other gruesome methods that come after killing someone; especially if that someone is your husband or has complete control over you.
    Mallory_Marnie likes this.
  4. Blaire

    Blaire New Member

    It seems like the setting of this short story is in some sort of Middle Eastern country. It reminds me a lot of A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini. A similar thing happened in that book, and the woman did receive a trail, but it was (of course) biased against her and she was stoned to death.

    This was a good short story, Anoetar. If you ever write a sequel to this, or write another story that expands upon the world the main character lives in, I would love to read it.
    Mallory_Marnie likes this.
  5. AnLaJo

    AnLaJo New Member

    I, along with anyone else, would not find you guilty. There is such a thing as battered woman syndrome, and this would count. The abuse in your story reminds me of two stories I read some years ago. One was called Gal by Ruthie Bolton. I do not recall the name of the other, but it was about a woman who grew up in Africa. She suffered genital mutilation at a young age and was married while still in her teens. Her story was heartbreaking, but she grew up to be a powerful attorney in Sweden.
    Mallory_Marnie likes this.

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