Beatriz : Uma garota nada convencional
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- Parts 6
Ongoing12m
Last published Sat, Dec 2, 2017
"Nada Convencional", o que melhor define Beatriz ou Bia como prefere ser chamada, tem apenas 16 anos e já arrumou mais confusões do que pode se contar, vive em pé de guerra com a madrasta Juliana, uma mulher que pode fazer de tudo para se manter sempre por cima.
Depois da morte de sua mãe, Beatriz se tornou uma garota extremamente fria,
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The Woman Who Blasphemed
The drip, drip brought back the memory of those screams. She could smell the crimson from that day, or was it crimson, salt, left behind by the blood and tears of some other prisoner. Were they abused? She wondered. How were her children. She thought of them a dozen times a day, she asked the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost to keep them safe. Jamil she had long ago realized would be spared his father's beatings. That day only brought it to her conscious. She had always known. But she saw it that day. Her beautiful daughter Maryam, that was who she was more worried about. Drip, drip. Splat. Splat. The water smelled bad. Sour, of shit. It tasted even worse. She had been forced to drink it, they had starved her, and deprived her of water for a few days. Was it days? She didn't know. There was no night and day in this place. Just the collective quiet and screams for food, for water, for mercy. Confessions of sins that the prisoners had not committed, anything to get out. Most harrowing were the screams. The whips, the flays, the screams. She winced every time she heard one. She shivered the first time she had heard one. She shuddered as she thought of that. The hair on her back rose, she pulled her arms around herself. It was unearthly. Not an animal's scream, not her screams when her husband beat her, not even when he had hit her with a bat. Not the screams of the dog that those kids had cornered, and were poking with sticks, some throwing stones at it, as if it were the devil himself. No, none of those screams. This came from a deeper place. This was a scream from before civilization. From before language. This was a scream, guttural. Loud, screeching, very much in pain.Complete
My sister has always attracted the wrong crowd who didn't hesitate to take advantage of her meek heart. Right from small, Zikora's naïvety always made me fight with every single one of her 'friends'. I have never been comfortable with any of her so-called friendships. Not even the one she was in at the moment with her new roommate. Funny enough was that I actually liked their relationship. It was pure, true, and more of a sisterhood. For the first time in history, Zikora made a true friend. I inwardly approved of the friendship, when the girl in question, didn't think twice in lunging a frying pan at my little sister's ex-boyfriend. And I know as you're reading this, you may ask yourself, what was my issue then? My issue wasn't with the friendship, but the babe herself. Her appearance reminded me of that Disney princess that had the complexion of a vampire. Snow White, very innocent looking creature. But that girl was the definition of a werey in disguise. Chineke ekwela! And I know you've already started judging me as the problematic character already. I am not problematic, she is. You may begin to think that okay I'm probably overreacting. Oga, Aunty, I am not overreacting. On the first day of meeting her, this babe carried her old fashioned okrika shoe that looked like it suffered for nineteen years, and threw it at the glass of my car while I was driving. Aunty, ha si na hel zipụ gị, ma-ọbụ site n'oké ọhịa ọjọọ dị n'obodo m? {did they send you from hell, or from the evil forest in my village?} That one is her business sha. She should just carry her small bum bum and stay on her own, because she's really getting on my nerves. I don't blame her, because she knows she's fine. That's why she's doing all this bullshit. But all that I know is using the word 'mad' in a sentence, I would say; Biboere Mirabel Madagascar is a MAD WOMAN. Come and fight me.
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