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The Afghan
She scrambled for our Land Rover, squealing for help in her native tongue, clawing at air for a freedom she could never possess. Her entire body was covered in a material called the burka. Joa, my driver, ignored the Afghan woman’s pleas and accelerated as my camera clicked and whirred. A man wearing a green turban aimed his AK47 at us. She scrambled in the dust behind the vehicle and her language suddenly changed to broken English.
"Please, to help me! Take me with!"
I heard the fear in her voice.
I felt her heart breaking.
I screamed, "Stop Joa. Stop the damn vehicle!"
A bullet ricocheted off the vehicle. He accelerated.
I couldn’t let this woman stay here to suffer a moment longer.
I lashed out at him with a fist to his head. He applied brakes, not quite stopping, just enough for her to catch up. He accelerated as she grabbed my hand. I pulled her up as another shot rang out and clutched her to my chest.
She was safe.
Safe from forced marriages, from being denied basic education, from being poisoned if she dared allow her daughters to go to school. Safe from the aim of an AK47.
We stopped ten miles away, and she was still in my arms.
I released her gently. She fell off the seat onto the soft desert sand, a gaping hole in the side of her body.
She had been so still in my arms.
So still.
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| This was a suspenseful, terse and kinetic piece of flash fiction Louis which I thoroughly enjoyed. You seem to have work-shopped it already (I'm a bit slow catching up this week)and the changes defintely work. The futility you describe in this piece is very affecting. Ash :) |
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Comment by: L J - 2007-11-18 10:30
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Thank you all for the reviews and critiques. I have made the critical changes. Just a note to those who feel I have written the flash from an American point of view; the tone of the piece certainly may seem to reflect this, however, this is not the case. The narrator/protagonist is nameless, it certainly is not me, he is a character in a fiction. The only name given is the driver's name, not even the protagonist is given a name and this is deliberate. Why? Because in this instance, the reader knows that the narrator is in Afghanistan, in a dusty, remote village. However, the reader can never know whther the protagonist is American, British or South African, and believe me, there were South African journalists there.
If you see blue before you, what else can't you see because of what you see. You might be right, you might be wrong about the American connection, but this flash is not a wrong or right piece of writing; it was written out of respect for the millions of women who are repressed throughout our unenlightened world.
It was written from the viewpoint that, if we deliberately set ourselves free, do we gain freedom? And if we were to die in that moment, then have we not reached the point of true freedom.
So be it - fire away... Freedom Writers |
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You had my heart beating like the wings of a tired butterfly trying to find a safe place to land.
The images are crisp and the writing is clean.
My only suggestion is this: what about changing "native language" to native tongue? |
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| A well written story with a good ending. But I do subscribe the the Brightlamp school of American arrogance. Wasn't the reason she was killed because the guy was shooting at you? |
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Comment by: Stratus - 2007-11-14 10:33
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The delivery, in glimpses, had a filmic quality to it.
I think as a whole it came over well, but could work much better in an extended version, something to balance the piece a little. The quick one-two punches hardly left time to breathe, or room to let one image settle before being hit with the next. Not a bad thing, particularly in flash, but I personally would have loved to see those last moments drawn out just a little longer.
Still, this was another fine piece I've been able to read regarding this challenge.
Thanks- |
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