La Rochelle 2020

 BUDDING AUTHORS

OUT OF THE CORNER OF MY EYE, I SAW A MOVEMENT IN THE SHADOWS Don’t think that I am a coward, because I am not. I stand firmly by my decision to shoot at it. I mean, what would you have done if you had seen a movement in the shadows; if you had been home alone? I know that I am not the only one who would have whipped out a pistol – my brother would have too, of course, he would have actually hit the target, but that is not the point. The point is that I did the right thing, and nothing you say will lead me to believe otherwise. I was seated in one of those typical beige armchairs that you always see in magazine therapy rooms, except this one had a number of odd stains covering its exterior. The room was designed to make a person feel comfortable with its friendly, bright paintings, yet somehow it made me feel far more uncomfortable. “So you say that you see these movements in the shadows quite often?” the woman asked in an overly friendly, bright voice. “Shadow figures, and yes, I see them often.” “I see.” She scribbled something going on for almost 45 minutes, and so far, all I had been doing was answering the same questions over and over again. We seemed to be making no progress. “No,” I replied, keeping my voice steady. “Is that no to alcohol or no to drugs?” What did this woman want me to say! “No, I don’t do either,” I retorted, with only a slight hint of frustration quivering in my voice. “So, that is no to drugs and no to alcohol?” “For goodness sake, woman, what do you want me to say!” Her steady, professionally painted face creased in surprise, then she lowered her head and scribbled something down on the form. I felt bad for letting my anger get the better of me, as I prided myself on steady emotions and plentiful patience. “Sorry.” I mumbled. She gave a quick nod in acknowledgement of my apology. “These, uhm…figures, what do you think they are?” she asked almost hesitantly. “Not sure, but if I had managed to kill it when it was in the back garden the other night, I would know. I will try to kill it next time, so I can tell you.” I was trying to be friendly to make up for my previous, rather snappy answer, but I think I might have frightened her a bit. down on the form pinned to her luminous pink clipboard. From the beige armchair, where I was seated, I could clearly see the heading, as it was typed in bold: Sophie Willobrough Psychological Examination . “And tell me, Sophie, do you drink excessively or use recreational drugs?” I was beginning to lose my patience with this woman. This session had been

MR’S Not too long ago I dreamt of the future. My young mind dreamt of being happy, rich and free. I dreamt of a future so bright that it would defeat all darkness. It kept me hopeful when the white man’s shackles burned my wrists and ankles. And when I came home from work to my starving, suffering siblings and miserable parents. Little did I know that thirteen would be my climax. And being free of poverty did not mean that I was free.

At fourteen I had no choice ... My family needed his money,

so they let him buy my pretty face. Put that shiny shackle on my finger. And brand me with his surname. I guess the previously oppressed can be the oppressors too.

I was once young and poor, but hopeful. Overnight I was robbed of my last bit of youth. Money is a problem of the past. And I am the most debilitated I have ever been. However, I never let any sorrow slip through.

BUDDING AUTHORS

I do all the housework with a smile on my face. I am loving and completely submissive. Because rebellion comes at a great price.

A price that neither I nor my family can afford. Lonely and cold in his plantation of a home. With no money and no permission to find a job. I know that I will always be indebted to him. All that awaits me is to become a bitter breeder and have unwanted children. This life that I live will never be mine. I will always be a slave. I will always be a mister’s. My future no longer burns brightly. But I see a spark in the children of today. Tomorrow their sparks will ignite and create a roaring fire. Their flames will spread like wildfire and melt the white man’s shackles. They will be heard! They will not be victims of poverty! They will not be sold for financial security! They will be free! IMAN ALLIE – GRADE 11

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