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“A Struggle Within”

Ahci had been normal, he knew that. But that was before… before… it pained him to think about. That was before the men came. Men in camouflage. Men with big guns.

            Ahci looked around the small tent he was in. He was sitting by the flap, looking at the small fire in the middle of the camp. He closed his eyes and looked deep into his memory. It was hard to remember now, after the hours of listening to the men tell him how glorious the cause that they fought for was. He knew that they did their best to make him forget home. They beat him until he said he would help. They thought that he forgot.

            But forget Ahci did not. Not everything. It was hard to remember, but he still remembered. The soldiers coming in the front.

            “Ahci!” his sister screaming as they drug her off, out the door to an unnamable future.

            In his mind’s eye he distantly saw a woman, his mother he thinks, reaching for the knife that they had.

            The scene was blurry, confuse. Ahci could not be sure that who he was seeing was his mother, or whether it really happened.

            The soldier hitting the woman with the butt of his gun. Her body hitting the dirt floor. All this, Ahci remembered with clarity. Even when he wanted to forget, he remembered.

            Part of his mind told him Ahci! Listen to my voice, it is just another person. You

have killed many, why should you care about this one?

            While part of him knew this was true, another part of him told the rest that this was his mother. The other part of his brain didn’t listen and for good reason… the constant brainwashing of the government men reduced one sad part of him to little more then an animal.

            He shunned these thoughts and instead thought of when he had been normal… what he could remember that is. He could still see his friend Mache playing kickball with him, with the sun setting low on the horizon. He saw the two of them playing pranks on his sister. He could clearly remember the smell of thick stew cooking. 

            And then just as fast as the memories came, they fled before a new consciousness that filled him. This new him instantly squelched the longings that he may have had concerning the life that was stripped from him. To make it worse, he realized this was happening and did not care.

            Next mission, I will kill more people, then maybe I can be free was the only thing that his mind told him. But free from what, he wondered? The government men kept telling them that just a few more people for the cause and then they could go. But at the same time they were causing the children that they forced to fight to forget anything about the life that they led before they were kidnapped.

            Ahci looked around the camp. There were few people stirring at this hour. There was no one stirring, and no one thinking. The only difference between the late hour and the middle of the day was that it was busy and all the people were awake.

            As Ahci was looking at the dying remnants of the fire, his memories suddenly, all that had been shut off, just a few minutes came flooding. Still blurry, and he still could not see his mother in them, but he had that taste of the freedom that he had had before all this fighting. And he knew one thing, he wanted to be rid of this way of life. He could not put a finger on it but he knew that this was not who he was. He knew that he was not a killer.

            And in spite of his knowledge, he did not know how to fulfill that wish. He wanted out, and that was certain, but for now, he would have to wait. He fell to his knees and prayed. His mother had taught him to ask God for help when he was a young boy, and no amount of brainwashing could strip that from him. As he fell contrite in the dirt he said,

            “God, this is me, Ahci. I want out. I want out. Please help me.” That was all that his torn mind could come up with. He hoped that it was enough.

            The next day, Ahci was in the back of an old military truck, heading for the next mission. The truck was filled with boys, from the age of eight to fourteen. They were all gaunt and underfed looking, but none of them seemed to notice this. All of them had a machine gun. One very small boy was clutching to his chest an AK-47 that nearly dwarfed him. One boy, the eldest, had a knife on his chest.

            The boy to the right of Ahci began to whimper. The older got up from his seat on a rusty ammo can, and slapped the young boy across his face. “Weak,” he said with venom in his voice “you know what we do with weak ones? We dump them in the desert without any water. Maybe we should do that to you.”

            The young boy just looked scared. It was obvious that the older boy had not only been brainwashed more then the rest of them, but he even begun thinking of himself as an equal with the rebel leaders. The older boy lost interest and sat back on his ammo box.

            After an hour or so, Ahci felt the truck slowing. That meant that they were almost ready to start the next part of the mission. When the truck stopped, the boy barreled out of it and stood on the ground immediately behind the truck. One of the men walked around from the front. He walked until all of the boys could see him clearly.

            “You all know what we are about to do. We are going to sack this little village,” He said, his fingers running through his greasy dreadlocked hair. “You know how to handle these sorts of attacks. Leave the women for us to take and kill what men that do not flee.”

            As he was talking, one boy, about thirteen or so Ahci thought, jumped to the front and yelled “You cowards! Letting boys fight for you! You have forced us, we have had no say! We—” he would have gone farther, but the man that was talking drew a side arm and shot the young boy through the chest. As the boy spun and fell to the dirt screaming, the man turned to the rest of the group.

            “Any questions?” he asked, more of a challenge to oppose him then a question. There were none. “Well you know what to do, let’s go do it.”

            Ahci looked through the bush where he was hiding. He saw people. Just normal people getting water out of the well at the center of town, one man was loading up his beat up truck with goats, most likely to take them to the market in the next town. He felt a feeling rush over him. The feeling of, I don’t want to do this, he ignored it, it happened every time.

            He knew that almost, if not all of the men would not fight the children. Sure they had guns, but none of them would shoot a small boy. He had seen it all before. The men just lacked the confidence and metal to shoot anyone that was smaller then they were.

            He confirmed that he did not think that they would shoot him by jumping out from the bush and charging towards a small mud hut. He saw a man moving to his feet. Ahci turned and pulled the trigger of the gun that was in his hands. The man did not stop but there was blood trailing down his leg. Instead of falling to the ground, the man went over and stood in front of his wife. Turning to Ahci, “Shoot me if you must, but until I am dead, my wife will not go with you.”

            Ahci was in a state of suspension. He did not want to… but his body would not listen. What fight did he have with this man? His hands moved against his will, the training from the rebels taking over. He said no, that he wouldn’t harm them, even as the gun was pointed. Tears streaming down his face, he looked one more time at the man guarding his family. The man nodded.

            “It is OK. I understand that it is not possible to escape. I understand.” That was the last thing that the man uttered on this earth.

            Looking at the man on the ground and the gun in his hands, his mind soon became blank of any sympathy. He marched through the small village, shooting people as he came on them, completely stripped of hope and reason. He did not think he reacted.

            As the time wore on, the body count that Ahci had caused rose. And so it went for some time, Ahci had no way of knowing how long he was killing. He had just slapped a fresh clip into his gun and walked into yet another house when he heard a click.

            Ahci turned. He saw a young boy, around his age with a pistol in his right hand. He said to Ahci, with death in his eyes, “The men may not fight you, but I will. You will not take my family.” And then the world went dark to Ahci.

            Ahci looked around. He was on his side, still in the small dwelling that he had walked into earlier. He felt a pain in his side. Where he was shot, no doubt. Then, something struck him as different. At first he did not know what it was. Then he remembered. His memory! He could see his mother now!

            He did not know how, but that small boy had saved him. Saved him by shooting him! Now, I can die, I am content. I can see my Mother and I am no longer under the control of those men. He sighed deeply, and then all was calm.

            Three months later, he walked out of the small hospital doors a changed person. He remembered everything. When he was on the brink of death, a Government squad, from a city that he could not pronounce, found the raiders and drove them off. They had found his bleeding form in the house. Ahci gathered from the doctors that he was found in the house where he had fallen.

            He was saddened to learn of his sister’s death, but at the same time, he knew that that had been over three years ago. He fell to the ground, and said, “God, you saved me. You did.” Never had he thought that he would be so happy to have been shot.

            He now knew one thing. He was free from the demons that the rebel leaders had planted inside of him. He could think on his own. And he knew that he could help those that were in the same spot he had been in. Armed with that knowledge, he headed off into the desert, looking for the first child soldier he could help.

            As he walked he mused, “I do not have penny in this world, but what matters that? I can think.” As the thrill went through him as he said that, he said it again, “I can think.” And that my friend, is freedom in itself.

So, to solve this problem, we have bought a new domain for Uhuru. The new domain will look exactly the same in your web browser, except that the address will have the “.wordpress” taken out of it. It will take a few days to get that up and running, but I’m just letting you know ahead of time. The wordpress version of this site will also be around, with a link taking visitors to the new site. 

Thanks to all our wonderful authors and artists, as well as our readers and other supporters! Have a great day! 

-Danielle

“Freedom”

            Freedom.

            When they think of a lack of freedom, most people will think of jail, chains, locked doors. Teenagers might think of their parents, school, rules. People might think of prison, war torn counties, rules, or governments, people who don’t let them do what they want, people who hurt.

            I think of myself.

            I turn to look around the room I’m in. Plain white padded walls, wire through the windows. It is obviously a complete lack of freedom. I know I should be feeling claustrophobic from being here. This room should make me fear for my freedom – the one thing I need so badly. But, oddly, I don’t feel it. I look down at the marks on my arms. I look at the bandage covering the big one on my wrist – the one that brought me here.

            I know it’s my fault. It’s my fault I’m locked up. Everything that happened is my fault. And I know that it’s my mind that’s making me claustrophobic, not this place. It won’t let me forget who still owns me. Those people who hurt me, people who didn’t care. It’s them who I’m thinking of. Them who I thought of when I ran, and them who I thought of that night when I made myself wind up here. They might not be here now, but still they control my every step. Still, they hold me captive.

            “It’s time for your groups.” A nurse comes into the room to get me and I nod, following her to a room where there are other kids waiting.

            I know the kids. I’ve been here for just week and had to come to these groups every day. Slumping on the closest seat to the door is Jenna, in here for trying to overdose. Next to her is Andy, who has schizophrenia, and David, who has pyromania. Then there’s Alexandra and Emily, who have anorexia. Those are just their labels. I don’t know how we’re supposed to talk about our problems when they just label them. I take the seat farthest away and sit down.

            Soon, they start the session, but I’m not especially listening. Soon after, we leave the room, finished with our group session. Thank goodness.

            David comes up to me, smiling. I give him a small smile. I don’t smile much, but I can’t help smiling at David. I guess he’s my friend, though I’m not sure if he’d consider me one. I never really say much to him. I’m not very talkative. But he doesn’t mind. He can talk enough for the both of us.

            “So, Ally, did I ever tell you about the time I wrestled two crocodiles single-handedly?” He grins and I smile, shaking my head, no. “Well, boy are you in for a story. It was a scorching hot day when me and my friend Bill went for a canoe ride down the river…” I have to smile, walking faster to pick up his pace as we walked. While David was in here for pyromania, he was also a diagnosed compulsive liar. I don’t know why the adults were trying to stop him from telling his stories. It’s definitely the best entertainment we have here.

            Soon I am laughing hard at his animated antics. I can’t help it. David is the closest I’ve had to a friend in…well, a really long time – nearly as long as I can remember. He’s funny, and I have no clue how any of the nurses here manage to keep a straight face when reprimanding him. In another life, I’m convinced he would be related to Robbin Williams.

            After a little bit, the nurses come and usher us off to our rooms. There are separate areas for boys and girls on the same floor, and we we’re not allowed to wander by ourselves, especially after hours. David grins and says goodnight, and I smile back and nod. David is ok with me and understands better than most people. He smiles back, ok with my response; ok with my not talking though the nurses are constantly pestering me to talk to them. But it’s so hard for me to get close to people. I can’t let myself get so close to him. I don’t like having friends; it only has ever gotten me hurt.

            Heading into my room, the nurse bids me goodnight and closes the door to let me get changed for bed. I stand inside the door for a minute before sighing and slowly walking to the bathroom to get washed up. After brushing my teeth and splashing some water on my face, I slip on my nightgown and go to sit on my bed, turning off the lights to pretend I’m asleep. I don’t sleep well, but I don’t want to give the nurses another reason to shove more meds down my throat.

            Sitting alone in my room, my thoughts come rushing towards me. While a minute ago I was listening to the first friend I’d had in awhile, now, again, I was drowning in my fears. It doesn’t matter what I did, they are still there, haunting me incessantly. I could be happy but then a minute later, anything reminds me of my past – of what happened to me – and again they’re flooding my mind. I couldn’t escape them. Images of what happened and the people who have hurt me flash across my mind, a slideshow of my life, highlighting the bad parts that I wanted so badly to forget. Why is it that whatever I did they were still there staring me in the face, laughing at me? 

            Why do I try? I can’t escape the memories. Even here, even now, they can still hurt me. They’re still hurting me. They’re still controlling me, and I can’t help it. No matter what I do, I can’t break free of them.

            Leaning back against the headboard, I pull my knees up close to me, burying my head, trying not to cry. But I can’t help it. They’re still here. They’re still hurting me. I know there must be something I can do. I need to get rid of the images. I need to get out.

            Reaching over from where I’m sitting, into the little drawer next to my bed, I reach through my clothes, under my underclothes to find what I’m looking for. Tightly, I close my hand around a small screw. We aren’t allowed “sharps” in the building and they had checked us when we came in, but I managed to find this one in the bathroom attached to my room. It had been holding one of the knobs on the cupboard on and I had managed to pull it free.

            Holding tight to the small piece of metal, I place it on my inner wrist and rake it along, drawing a small bead of blood. I shouldn’t do this. Not again. But it’s as if it comes naturally. My vision glazes over for a second and my body takes over. I feel a slight tingling sensation on my arm and look down. Looking down after a seconds daze, I see blood gushing out of a long cut along my wrist. Oh, that can’t be good. Suddenly, I realize that I am slightly dizzy. What am I doing?

            “Help!” One small word, sounding so strange in my ears, coming from my mouth, strangled from not being used in so long, and unnaturally loud. Just one word. But then everything goes black.

*

            “Ally? Oh, Ally what did you do to yourself?”

            I slowly open my eyes and try to sit up, hearing a voice whispering by my bed. Bad move. The room spins for a minute and my arm feels stiff when I try and use it to prop myself up.

            “Lie down, stupid-head.” But I hear a light tone to the voice, masking worry. I let the arm on my shoulder push me back to lie down, then slowly turn my head to look at David. I grin slightly and ask what he’s doing here. He grins a bit, pretending to look shocked.

            “She speaks! Yeah yeah, I know I’m not allowed to be here, but since when do I follow the rulebooks? Well, I was just sneaking out to find a snack when I heard Nurse Stacey and Nurse Nia talking about you. So I heard what you did to yourself.  And Stacey said that Alex said that the doctor said you were down here and you’d be ok. So I snuck down here, picking the lock on the kitchen and sneaking through there.” He stops to take a breath. “I figured you could use some moral support.”

            I grin, wanting to talk to him, wanting to let him know how much this means to me. the words feel strange on my throat. “David, you are awesome.”

            He grins. “It’s nothing.” I think that’s about the shortest thing I have ever heard him say. He actually seems a little shy. David? Shy? What is the world coming to?

            “No, it’s a lot. Thank you. For being my friend.”

            “No problem. I’m here if you need anything Als. But, Why would you do that?” He looks me in the eye, so close to me, confused and worried.

            I lower my head. “I…I…I don’t think I can talk about that yet…”

            “You don’t need to. I don’t want to push. But I’m here if you ever want to talk. But please don’t hurt yourself like that. I care about you, Ally. Please don’t…”

            I feel like crying. I’ve hurt him, I can see it. I’ve messed up again. “I’m sorry. Just there’s so much…in my head…the people who’ve hurt me…they’re still there, David…they still hurt me here…I want help…but what can I do?”

            He shakes his head, looking sad. “Ally, they’re not really hurting you here. They’re only still here because you let them. That’s not freedom, Ally, I can’t imagine what that’s like. I understand people have hurt you, I know what that’s like. But you have to let go. Until you do that, until you try and move on, they’re the ones controlling you. They’re not hurting you, you’re helping them. Don’t do this to yourself, Ally. Please. If you need something to hold on to, to help you pull through, I’m always here.”

            Before I know what’s going on, he’s leaning down towards me. He stops for a second, giving me time to say no, then he leans his head and kisses me gently on the lips. I am surprised, and I haven’t let a guy this close to me for awhile. Usually I would freak out. But I don’t, and I don’t pull away. It’s quick but sweet and I can tell how much he means it. He looks at me, questioning and a little shy. He lightly traces a line on my cheek.

            “David…I think I might love you.”

            He chuckles. “That means a lot coming from you, doesn’t it?”

            I nod and he smiles. “Me too.”

            Then the nurses are in here yelling at David to get out of the room and asking how he even got here. Not that he’ll tell. I smile. He sees it and smiles at me as they pull him out of the room. I smile again, my first real smile in a long time.

*

            So I’m doing ok. I’m not better. I’m not healed. But I’m trying. I want to get better. And, like David said, I have him to hold on to, to help me. We’ve been talking a lot. He makes me smile. And he really does mean what he says to me, even if he is a compulsive liar. Slowly, I’m starting to open up to him. Maybe soon I’ll tell him my story. And we’re working towards something too. I don’t know what will happen or what I’m doing. But I’m trying to learn to let go, to move on. To be happy. Can I be happy? Sure. Like David’s been teaching me, I can be whatever I want. I can control myself. I might not be there yet, but I’m making my way to it. To getting better.

            To true freedom.

© Leora Karoly

“Music of the Heart”

I was an ordinary girl, once. But that was a long time ago. When my life made sense, when it had meaning. Before the end. When my world came crashing down, and everything that made up who I was became illegal. This is the end.

            It was a day like any other, starting with me waking up at about 5:30, taking a shower, and heading to school. I sat through all my classes as usual, just biding the time until I could escape this prison of a school to listen to the music I kept hearing.

            When the final bell finally rang, there was something off. I could hear it in the way the staff members moved, their whispered discussions, huddled in groups to keep us from hearing what news they were sharing. We were sent home without a single word of what had happened. We arrived at our homes at varying times, but we all found out eventually. We were no longer free.

            The takeover had lasted only half an hour, and no one knew. Thirty minutes was all it took for one man to completely take over our world. The details are not known, but when each child got home, they were taken. I knew, as soon as my feet hit the concrete of my driveway. The music was gone. The music had always been there, Cathy singing way off key in the shower from down the street, Noel busting out guitar cords from next door, Megan with the heavy metal turned up loud enough to blow out a set of speakers a week. But most of all, my father. Listening, playing, singing, there was never a lack of music coming from my house. Until that day. I remembered back to the day, years ago, when Dad had explained, probably for the thousandth time that day, about the music I heard. He had been explaining why we had music, about how God decided he didn’t like the world the way it was. So, He gave man hearing. And man decided he needed to do something to bring pleasure to his hearing. He made a small instrument out of mud and placed a reed in it. This made an ocarina, the oldest instrument known to man, like a tiny flute to wear around your neck. Then, my father looked me in the eye, and said, “Monique, if you learn nothing in all your life, remember this. Nothing can stop you if you put your mind to it. Don’t let them change who you are. Let the music play.” That’s when he gave it to me. The one heirloom passed down through our family. A small clay nut-looking thing with six holes for the fingers, and a starburst design in the center. The Crominarty secret. He told me, if the music ever stopped, to go into the heart of the woods, to the grove, and play the song he taught me. It was slow and soft like a lullaby, but had a frantic edge to it. I was told never to play that melody, unless I was in grave danger. I’m pretty sure this counted. The instant I hit the driveway, I knew. I turned around and ran.  

            The forest was a good twenty-five miles away, down the highway from where we lived now. I wouldn’t make it on foot. I had planned to hitch-hike on the first truck I saw, but the roads were deserted. That’s where they caught me. They came screaming up the road in a white Italian sports car, and almost hit me. I had heard them coming, being the only sound other than my own breathing and footsteps, but they were just so fast! They took me back to my house. A man was waiting for me there.

            He was dressed in a white lab coat and white pants, with no ID or distinguishing buttons. He was bald, and his face was completely generic. He had a look about him that could only be created by some genetic altercation. Normally, when I meet someone, I can hear the music their heart makes. Not him. Whether there was no heart, or if he was some demon who existed without the gift of music, I never knew, but such matters were pushed aside as he smiled a terribly wicked simile at me. I knew I had to run then, but my legs would not work. He stood and came toward me, placing his hands on my shoulders. An incantation left his lips, holding me still in an obviously evil manner. I knew what he was doing, for I had heard it once before in the past. A time when the music was louder, everywhere in the hearts and souls of the people around me, and they wanted to take it away. The other time, the man still had the music, it was just very quiet. He was the new consoler at my school, and, in an attempt to “fix” me, my third grade teacher forced me to spend an hour a day in his office. He uttered an incantation that sent voices to my head. Soon, the rest of the staff at my school were convinced I was a freak, a demon spawn. The music was bad, they said. It wasn’t normal, wasn’t right, they said. They did everything short of an exorcism to get rid of my “abnormality”. That was where they lost me. My father was a music man. He would have nothing of them trying to rid me of it. He told me to play the ocarina, to play from my heart. Looking sort of nervous, I played. It started out as just one note, long and wavering, but then the melody broke through. It wasn’t perfect, but then, I never claimed to be. But then it happened. As the melody took flight, the consoler started shrieking, started writhing in pain. Almost like the music was burning him.

            The incantation became louder, faster. I knew I had to snap out of it, or I would fall to him. My head snapped up. No. He was not going to do this. He was not going to take my music away!

            “NO!” The sound of my scream shocked us both. He took his hands away, stumbling backward. I took the opportunity to jump back, onto the table in the dining room. I had never been all that graceful, but I was strong, and I could be fast if I wanted to. From my vantage point, I began to play. The melody wasn’t something I had ever played before, too fast and loud for me. But it stood defiant, so it must have been. In that instant, my jeans-and-a-tee-shirt outfit was gone, and as was the house I was standing in. We stood on a cloud, with him in a black suit, his face contorted with pain. I stood in a white dress, with a great pain in my shoulders. Wings. My hair flowed unbound as it had when I was small. I was free from his curse. I went and placed my hand on his shoulder, trying so hard to find his music, I nearly lost myself to his evil. My heart broke. This man had lost his way, and was so far gone, even the angle Michael could do nothing to bring him back. A wind blew around me, and on its breath, I heard a gentle song. It had no words, but its very flow told me all would be well. I closed my eyes, and when they opened again, we were back in my house. The man ran screeching out the door, and I never saw him again.

            School began again the next day, without any spirit. The students had been stripped of their individuality, and the adults of their joy. All our parents were gone. But hope was not.

            Including me, there were five. Five students who had heard the music once, and now would die to get it back. We were the only ones left who could fight, or even wanted to. We were the only ones who saw why we had to. 

            The world slid back into a shadow of what it had been. The music was there, but only in echoes. The people hated. They hated each other, and the world suffered. 

            My name is Monique Crominarty. I am thirteen years old. With four other teenagers, I am on a mission. A mission to bring back the music and the love to a world that no longer remembers that it even lost it. There are more of us now, but we don’t pronounce ourselves so much. We are the ones who reach out to the outsiders, who protect the weak while others sit by and watch. We are the ones who break into song in the middle of Chicago, or start dancing on the roads of Uganda. We are here to free the people, and bring back the music to a silent world. You have a choice. Join with us, and embrace the music to its full standard, or sit by passively as we change the rest of the world. We are just teenagers, yes, but underestimate us, if you dare, and you’re in for the surprise of a lifetime. Teenagers, alone are nothing to the adults of the world. But teenagers together, with one voice, will rock the world to the Stone Age and back. We will not be silent. Let the music play.

© Bre Caverty

“Freedom To”

I. be beautiful

She averts her eyes as she walks past the mirror, unwilling to see the face that would look back. But there is nothing wrong with her; she is no less beautiful than everybody else. She would not believe it if you told her, though. Images have been drilled into her head since she was young, images of what she now thinks she should look like.

But they aren’t really all that beautiful, the people she idealises – they are changed by surgery and covered in what is surely a pound of makeup. That is not something she should ever do, because it would not look good on her. She is ideal the way she is, and any change would make her be imperfect, impure.

But as long as she cares, she will never be free of the chains that bound her. She will always be stuck fighting a battle she cannot win, a battle that will leave her weary and broken. She cannot win until she sees herself the way she is – a beautiful girl trapped in a not-so-beautiful world.

II. love

She glances over at the man across the room, who glances back with a smirk. She glares at him in a way that would surely melt the ice caps; if she had really meant it, of course.

Because it is all a façade, really. She has no love for the man who sits beside her; the man that she calls husband. They were put together to make a child who could sing, a talent that she and her partner share. They had no choice in the matter – it was their duty. They were doing their part to make the world a better place.

But as her eyes meet his once more, she could not help but wonder what it would have been like to choose the one she would spend her life with – to choose the one she would love.

III. be loved

The unnamed baby cries in the orphanage, not wanted by anyone. Baby continues to cry for a while, before a young worker comes and angrily stuffs a bottle in her mouth. Then Baby will be silent.

She will be silent for a while; it will be a long time before she learns to talk. After all, there will be no one to talk to her, so she will have no one to learn from. She will then be ridiculed by the workers, be known as just another girl who cannot speak, just another one of the countless girls whose parents cannot be found, most likely killed by war.

As she grows up, Baby will never be loved by anyone. She will miss out on the shoulders to cry on, the hugs and kisses; she will have no one to cheer her on. She will be miserable.

But that is not how it should be. She should be removed from where she is and given to a family, to people who can treat her right.

Because no one can grow up properly without love.

IV. play

The sun is setting as she returns to her house; a small, rundown hut that is the home of seven people. She longs to play with her doll, and yet she still has to cook dinner for her brothers and sisters.

At twelve, she is the head of the house. Her parents died of AIDS, and her older brother ran away, no doubt to escape the burden that would have been placed on his shoulders. Sometimes, when she thinks about him she gets angry. Other times she wishes she could do the same.

But she will not, of course, there are too many people depending on her. They would all starve if she were to stop going out to the fields each day, salvaging whatever harvest leftovers she can find.

But as it is, after she dishes some out to everyone, there is none left for her. That night, by the light of the moon, she plays with her homemade doll Kya, trying to ignore the growling in her stomach.

Wishing she could play more often.  

V. choose your friends

She tries desperately to fit in. It’s hard, as their personalities are nothing like hers. But she has to try. After all, how else will she be invited to the parties she wants to go to? How else will she been viewed the way she wants to be viewed? Yes, life is difficult for someone who needs to be someone they aren’t.

She wishes she could tell them all how much she loves to draw; she never will, though, they would look down on it. There are so many other things, better things that she could be doing. She should learn to dance, she thinks. Then she would have more friends.

Maybe she would have more friends if she learned to dance; there would be all the other girls who do it too, whom she would be able to relate to. But she would not love them as much as she should love a friend.

Because she really hates dancing. It’s not who she is. But if she was herself, she would need different friends, she would not keep the same ones.

She can’t choose her friends. They come with her ‘personality.’ That’s just the way it is.

VI. be accepted

The corner store is closed when she gets to it; she should not be surprised, because after all, it’s late. But the one on the other side of the street is open; why isn’t hers?

And she can’t walk on that side of the street. This side, yes, but not that one. It belongs to someone else.

She briefly considers crossing. It would not be too terrible. The man in the store would say nothing, as he probably needs a paying customer.

But she will not go. It isn’t worth the risk. She would not put her life in danger for a drink; she isn’t that thirsty yet.

She sighs, and wonders if life somewhere else would be better. Somewhere away from the gangs and the fights.

But she will never leave. It is her life; it has been, is, and probably always will be.

She turns around dejectedly and starts walking back home. Maybe she’ll just have water.

 © Leslie, 2008

“Freedom”

The world can make you

Crash and burn

Cuz no one gets

What they should earn

The world spins

While you stay still

You’re so confused

It makes you ill

Why can’t you be

Who you want to be?

They don’t get it

Why can’t they see?

So you hide it all

Inside your head

When they can’t see you

Cry yourself to bed

But locking it all

Within your mind

Won’t get you far

Won’t help you find

The hurt is too much

To bear on your own

So rip apart

The covers you’ve sown

To protect yourself

And your heart within

To lock a mind like yours

Must be a sin

So stop hiding

Don’t be so scared

And take my hand

And the wings I’ve repaired

So you can be free

From the doubts of your mind

Run with me

And don’t look behind

For true freedom

Lies in the heart

When you can live and love

Without falling apart

Don’t hide from life

Just open your eyes

There’s still some good

It might be a surprise

So stop hiding

And closing your doors

And notice small beauties

Like sand on the shores

Don’t be afraid

I won’t let you fall

I’ll hold your hand

Through it all

Unlock your heart

Throw away the key

Close your eyes

And count one two three

Then open your eyes

And view what is real

You can’t truly live

Til you let yourself feel

Your heart’s like a bird

So listen to me

Open your cage

And let it fly free

© Leora Karoly

“Freedom”

Freedom is having wings to spread,

Responding to authority, using my head.

Every day I thank my unbound wings.

Every night I dream of those who lack them.

Don’t underestimate the simple things

Or take for granted anything, even your pen.

Make time to remember those living without.

“A Wish For a New Year” 

May this year be full

Of forgiving and forgetting

Of joy and sadness

Of rights and wrongs

Of understanding and remembering

Of freedom

Of hope

Of growth

Of life.

May the trials of the last year

Not be in vain.

May you grow

May you learn.

May they make you

Wiser and stronger

Older and more experienced

Younger and more joyful

May they make you who you are.

May the world teach you

Of joy

And pain

Of love

And loss

And may you teach the world

That it is better for you

May you fill this new year

With your words

And your thoughts

And dreams

And wishes and hopes

And may you fill this year, and all those to come

With a bright future.

May your endings be beginnings.

May your tears be lessons.

May your heart never be broken

And may your spirit never be crushed.

May you fill this world

This year

This life

With everything that you are.