It was a bright, clear day as Zakia emerged from the court building on the other side of her new life. The sun was warm on her face as she tried her best not to skip down the steps; she was still far too removed from a normal life to dare to have faith in a divorce to provide one for her. She had taken this first step, literally and figuratively though, and there was no turning back. She took a few more cautious strides down the steps, pausing to raise her chin up to the comforting sun, letting it embrace her coy cheek, an overture to freedom, a gesture to buoy her courage. This primer in emancipation would be short lived however, as she would have very little left of her face by the time she reached the end of the stairs.
When she woke earlier that morning, she wasn't sure if she would be able to go through with it. It wouldn't be easy changing the brutal cycle she had lived with for more than two decades. She did not feel good about her future, simply having gotten to the point where she preferred stepping over a cliff to returning to the misery she had endured so long, even a new hell looked appealing. She paced back and forth, watching the clock, trying desperately to find the strength to leave for the government building, finally settling on the picture of her two children. She would take it with her, for if she did not, she might turn back at any of the hundreds of opportunities in the next few hours. She would face these weaknesses one at at time, would walk toward her freedom even if it felt like it was her death. She no longer could imagine the difference.
She gathered the papers her aunt had helped her with, never having learned to read very well after she was removed from school at the age of eight. She could read many of the words in the Koran though, and drew great comfort from from their soft fluid shapes, their consistent rhythm, their firm but kind admonitions. She loved Allah more than her own life, of this she was certain. And if it was not for her faith in Him, she would not beg for the strength to persist even if only to provide for her son and daughter. Not once did she ever question Him about her fate, wise enough to know that her resolve, her fortitude were His gifts, not the monster that had erupted into her life twenty years before. God's will, her children's picture, and a growing desire to emerge from her darkness were enough to push her forward this day when every muscle and every bone protested the act.
As she walked purposely to the bus line, she realized for the first time in her life she was going where she wanted, when she wanted, without care or culpability to her father or her husband. Both by the way, knew what she was doing, and she had left one and alienated the other to do so. Allah, the kids, and sunshine provided all the purpose she needed in life now, not two men. Not the man who gave her away to an alcoholic and drug addict, not the man who was more obligated to his friends' sense of his own faith or the man who had no faith until his delinquent pride needed under girding to survive her liberation. No, she loved a different God, not the one that told her father to leave her to her torment rather than face a community that would view her divorce as an affront to his family's dignity and honor. Not the God who granted her husband superiority and impunity even as he violated every decent tenet of the faith. She loved her God, who would see her through these worldly betrayals, the only one who knew her heart.
As she drew closer to the court, she walked faster, easier. She had given herself to this by now, and would leave everything in Allah's hands. Amazingly, she felt no fear as she entered the building, the the whole process, waiting in line, gathering signatures, waiting again for a stamp, lasted a few hours and it felt like minutes. She walked in, and it seemed, straight back out. Out into the sun. The simplicity of the sequence startled her, perhaps threatening to awaken too large of a dose of hope for her to bear just yet. The clerk had given her more papers, had made explanations she could no longer remember, and looked on impatiently as she seemed reluctant to turn and leave as she should have. She was numb or she was alive, she really had no gauge to tell.
The steps confronted her as she left, and she paused at their summit not knowing where the frontier of her fear would give way to her future. She was half way down when she noticed a familiar form darting into her periphery. It did not startle her, nothing this day could. Still, she turned, ducked, and covered the side of her face that was in peril. It was not instinct, it was practice. The dull, brutal thud that would rattle her head never came though, and she peered up under her elbow almost curiously. He had stopped a few feet from her, and was tossing something at her, almost comically. Water she thought as it hit her, warm water. Perhaps in those moments, she was dreaming - the day was unreal, and his aborted attack was beyond her experience. This thin strand of speculation was cut short abruptly as the acid began to dissolve her face.
The wet warmness exploded, as did all thoughts of the day, all notions of a better future. The pain stung right through the left side of her face, though her skin she thought, straight into her skull. She frantically clawed at her cheek, as if she could pull the horror off of her face. As her hand met what was left of the tissue between her eyebrow and chin, the agony threatened her consciousness as dead fingers pried unfeelingly at flesh falling away too readily - cartilage, bone, and sinew tangling in a shock induced silence, as her screams found no voice. Cruelly, just as a new and merciful darkness was washing over her, she realized she lost control of herself and was collapsing in a desperate clutch of blood, urine, scorched flesh, and resignation. She reached into her pocket with a hand she could no longer feel, hoping to connect with the picture of her children. Nothing else mattered at that moment. Melting she knew, as the remains of her face kissed the concrete, should not be this painful.
To be continued...........
When she woke earlier that morning, she wasn't sure if she would be able to go through with it. It wouldn't be easy changing the brutal cycle she had lived with for more than two decades. She did not feel good about her future, simply having gotten to the point where she preferred stepping over a cliff to returning to the misery she had endured so long, even a new hell looked appealing. She paced back and forth, watching the clock, trying desperately to find the strength to leave for the government building, finally settling on the picture of her two children. She would take it with her, for if she did not, she might turn back at any of the hundreds of opportunities in the next few hours. She would face these weaknesses one at at time, would walk toward her freedom even if it felt like it was her death. She no longer could imagine the difference.
She gathered the papers her aunt had helped her with, never having learned to read very well after she was removed from school at the age of eight. She could read many of the words in the Koran though, and drew great comfort from from their soft fluid shapes, their consistent rhythm, their firm but kind admonitions. She loved Allah more than her own life, of this she was certain. And if it was not for her faith in Him, she would not beg for the strength to persist even if only to provide for her son and daughter. Not once did she ever question Him about her fate, wise enough to know that her resolve, her fortitude were His gifts, not the monster that had erupted into her life twenty years before. God's will, her children's picture, and a growing desire to emerge from her darkness were enough to push her forward this day when every muscle and every bone protested the act.
As she walked purposely to the bus line, she realized for the first time in her life she was going where she wanted, when she wanted, without care or culpability to her father or her husband. Both by the way, knew what she was doing, and she had left one and alienated the other to do so. Allah, the kids, and sunshine provided all the purpose she needed in life now, not two men. Not the man who gave her away to an alcoholic and drug addict, not the man who was more obligated to his friends' sense of his own faith or the man who had no faith until his delinquent pride needed under girding to survive her liberation. No, she loved a different God, not the one that told her father to leave her to her torment rather than face a community that would view her divorce as an affront to his family's dignity and honor. Not the God who granted her husband superiority and impunity even as he violated every decent tenet of the faith. She loved her God, who would see her through these worldly betrayals, the only one who knew her heart.
As she drew closer to the court, she walked faster, easier. She had given herself to this by now, and would leave everything in Allah's hands. Amazingly, she felt no fear as she entered the building, the the whole process, waiting in line, gathering signatures, waiting again for a stamp, lasted a few hours and it felt like minutes. She walked in, and it seemed, straight back out. Out into the sun. The simplicity of the sequence startled her, perhaps threatening to awaken too large of a dose of hope for her to bear just yet. The clerk had given her more papers, had made explanations she could no longer remember, and looked on impatiently as she seemed reluctant to turn and leave as she should have. She was numb or she was alive, she really had no gauge to tell.
The steps confronted her as she left, and she paused at their summit not knowing where the frontier of her fear would give way to her future. She was half way down when she noticed a familiar form darting into her periphery. It did not startle her, nothing this day could. Still, she turned, ducked, and covered the side of her face that was in peril. It was not instinct, it was practice. The dull, brutal thud that would rattle her head never came though, and she peered up under her elbow almost curiously. He had stopped a few feet from her, and was tossing something at her, almost comically. Water she thought as it hit her, warm water. Perhaps in those moments, she was dreaming - the day was unreal, and his aborted attack was beyond her experience. This thin strand of speculation was cut short abruptly as the acid began to dissolve her face.
The wet warmness exploded, as did all thoughts of the day, all notions of a better future. The pain stung right through the left side of her face, though her skin she thought, straight into her skull. She frantically clawed at her cheek, as if she could pull the horror off of her face. As her hand met what was left of the tissue between her eyebrow and chin, the agony threatened her consciousness as dead fingers pried unfeelingly at flesh falling away too readily - cartilage, bone, and sinew tangling in a shock induced silence, as her screams found no voice. Cruelly, just as a new and merciful darkness was washing over her, she realized she lost control of herself and was collapsing in a desperate clutch of blood, urine, scorched flesh, and resignation. She reached into her pocket with a hand she could no longer feel, hoping to connect with the picture of her children. Nothing else mattered at that moment. Melting she knew, as the remains of her face kissed the concrete, should not be this painful.
To be continued...........
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