harborshore (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
harborshore) wrote2009-11-25 08:06 pm
harborshore) wrote2009-11-25 08:06 pm
International Day for Elimination of Violence Against Women
I had two posts to make today; this one is the one I shouldn't need to make. Today is the International Day for Elimination of Violence Against Women. It's a long name for a day and a hefty undertaking, unfortunately, because this is a world where women get hurt. And I can't actually write a post about this, because the terrible things that happen to women, it's the thing I carry and don't know what to do with because it hurts so goddamn much.
And by that I mean I know too many women who have been hurt by somebody, I've taken too many phone calls, you know how it goes, but I can't stop taking the phone calls or hearing the stories, even when I have no idea what to say. Really, there isn't much you can say except "I'm so sorry someone did that to you" and "I'm here" and "I love you."
So here is a story of mine. A ficlet, really. It'll have to stand in for meta, today. Let's just all agree that this fucking bullshit needs to end.
Title: On Your Marks
Pairing: Alicia gen.
Warnings: reference to past rape and violence.
Word Count: 975
Summary: AU. Alicia is fighting a revolution and she is a former prisoner of war. She wasn’t expecting to see one of her jailers again, let alone as one of their prisoners, but that's okay, she has things she needs to say.
A/N: Technically, this is set in my Big Bang verse, but all the context it needs from that is in the summary. Also, this is in no way intended as a commentary on what victims of sexual assault should do/need to do/or what closure should look like, this is a story I needed to write and something I need to post today. ETA: And I forgot to say,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thesamefire looked at this for me back in June when I wrote the first half, and she told me the thing I needed to fix the ending. Thank you again, darling.
While going on rounds and looking over the prisoners they ended up with after the last raid, Alicia stops when she gets about halfway down the hallway and looks at the man in the cell. He's saying something about how all the goddamn revolutionaries are going to get killed once the reinforcements come. She's listening, but she's thinking about something else, something--
"I know you," she says abruptly, cutting him off mid-word and getting closer to him. "Where do I know you from?"
He's shaking his head, trying to back away from her gun and the knife she has in her other hand, but this room is too small. They don't torture their prisoners, but they don't give them luxury accomodations either. They hardly have the space, for one.
And then she's got it. Her eyes are still open, but she's hit with a series of images--his face above her, his laughter when she begged, the only time she did. Oh, yes, she knows this man. She can feel herself smile with teeth and she sees him twitch, pulling at the handcuffs.
"You remember me, right?" she says, voice low. "The 'stubborn fucking bitch", I think you said. You were going to show me my place and you laughed when I begged you to stop."
He's shaking his head. "It was just--"
"Just what happens in war, right", she says. "I was just a girl in the wrong place, right? That's just what you do to women?"
He's quiet, backed up against the wall and shaking, and she notices detachedly that she has her knife laying across his throat, pressing in a little. And she's taller than him.
"I could kill you really easily right now," she says. "This is a pretty fucking sharp knife. You'd bleed out right here on the floor, and no one would even ask me why I did it." (That's not strictly true, but he doesn't need to know that.)
He's saying something again. She thinks it might be 'please'. She presses the blade a little further into his neck, then backs away.
"But that'd be too easy," she says. "You're gonna stay right here and watch us win this, and then you're going to be locked up for the rest of your life, and you're never going to touch another woman. Ever. You'd better be good, too--you see, you're among my people now."
She leaves him like that, leaning against the wall, and walks out of the cell, out of the hallway of cells. Once she's turned the corner, she sinks down on the floor, letting go of her gun. She keeps hold of her knife though, turning it around and around in her hands. The wall is sturdy behind her; she can see anyone coming but she's not looking. There are a lot of people in the room.
Part of her wants to go back and do what she threatened, making it so she knows he couldn't ever hurt anyone again. The rest of her feels light, somehow. It's not that it doesn't hurt, it's not that anything is resolved, but it's like part of her was thinking she'd run into him, part of her was thinking that maybe, maybe he'd get a chance to touch her again. But he won't, they've locked him up, he won't.
She realizes she's crying when she feels her face getting wet. Dammit.
Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she puts the knife on the ground. Thinks about how easy it is to hold, how easy it is to use, how sometimes she forgets how to recognize pain in herself or in anyone else. It's been a long winter, metaphorically speaking anyway.
Alicia looks up when she notices someone walking towards her. It's Lyn, of course it is.
"Hey," she says, keeping her voice as flat as she can.
"Hey you," Lyn says, carefully. "I just wanted—how'd the rounds go? You look—"
Alicia shakes her head. "Just saw someone I recognized is all."
"From back there?" Whoa, there's an intensity Alicia hasn't seen in Lyn in a while.
"Yeah, one of them, you know." And because it's Lyn, she confesses, "I thought about killing him."
"I would, if you asked me to," Lyn says, and yeah, Alicia knows. She also knows she should probably not let Lyn know which one of the prisoners it was.
"No, don't, I think maybe, you know, death's too easy. I want him to see us win."
And Lyn grins at that, a smile with no joy in it but with all the fucking fire she has. "Yeah, I get that," is all she says.
She slides down the wall to sit next to Alicia, reaching out for the knife. "When are you going to teach me that one move, you know the one?"
"As soon as you stop over-reaching," Alicia says, and closes her eyes when Lyn splutters and starts talking about how she doesn't over-reach, never has, and then veers off on a tangent about the mural she's planning for the last and empty wall in their headquarters. When she gets to the clear, clear sky and the tiny tiny ghosts she wants to paint, Alicia reaches out and takes her hand.
It feels like an anchor, she thinks, and she doesn't smile, but she holds on a little tighter.
And by that I mean I know too many women who have been hurt by somebody, I've taken too many phone calls, you know how it goes, but I can't stop taking the phone calls or hearing the stories, even when I have no idea what to say. Really, there isn't much you can say except "I'm so sorry someone did that to you" and "I'm here" and "I love you."
So here is a story of mine. A ficlet, really. It'll have to stand in for meta, today. Let's just all agree that this fucking bullshit needs to end.
Title: On Your Marks
Pairing: Alicia gen.
Warnings: reference to past rape and violence.
Word Count: 975
Summary: AU. Alicia is fighting a revolution and she is a former prisoner of war. She wasn’t expecting to see one of her jailers again, let alone as one of their prisoners, but that's okay, she has things she needs to say.
A/N: Technically, this is set in my Big Bang verse, but all the context it needs from that is in the summary. Also, this is in no way intended as a commentary on what victims of sexual assault should do/need to do/or what closure should look like, this is a story I needed to write and something I need to post today. ETA: And I forgot to say,
thesamefire looked at this for me back in June when I wrote the first half, and she told me the thing I needed to fix the ending. Thank you again, darling.While going on rounds and looking over the prisoners they ended up with after the last raid, Alicia stops when she gets about halfway down the hallway and looks at the man in the cell. He's saying something about how all the goddamn revolutionaries are going to get killed once the reinforcements come. She's listening, but she's thinking about something else, something--
"I know you," she says abruptly, cutting him off mid-word and getting closer to him. "Where do I know you from?"
He's shaking his head, trying to back away from her gun and the knife she has in her other hand, but this room is too small. They don't torture their prisoners, but they don't give them luxury accomodations either. They hardly have the space, for one.
And then she's got it. Her eyes are still open, but she's hit with a series of images--his face above her, his laughter when she begged, the only time she did. Oh, yes, she knows this man. She can feel herself smile with teeth and she sees him twitch, pulling at the handcuffs.
"You remember me, right?" she says, voice low. "The 'stubborn fucking bitch", I think you said. You were going to show me my place and you laughed when I begged you to stop."
He's shaking his head. "It was just--"
"Just what happens in war, right", she says. "I was just a girl in the wrong place, right? That's just what you do to women?"
He's quiet, backed up against the wall and shaking, and she notices detachedly that she has her knife laying across his throat, pressing in a little. And she's taller than him.
"I could kill you really easily right now," she says. "This is a pretty fucking sharp knife. You'd bleed out right here on the floor, and no one would even ask me why I did it." (That's not strictly true, but he doesn't need to know that.)
He's saying something again. She thinks it might be 'please'. She presses the blade a little further into his neck, then backs away.
"But that'd be too easy," she says. "You're gonna stay right here and watch us win this, and then you're going to be locked up for the rest of your life, and you're never going to touch another woman. Ever. You'd better be good, too--you see, you're among my people now."
She leaves him like that, leaning against the wall, and walks out of the cell, out of the hallway of cells. Once she's turned the corner, she sinks down on the floor, letting go of her gun. She keeps hold of her knife though, turning it around and around in her hands. The wall is sturdy behind her; she can see anyone coming but she's not looking. There are a lot of people in the room.
Part of her wants to go back and do what she threatened, making it so she knows he couldn't ever hurt anyone again. The rest of her feels light, somehow. It's not that it doesn't hurt, it's not that anything is resolved, but it's like part of her was thinking she'd run into him, part of her was thinking that maybe, maybe he'd get a chance to touch her again. But he won't, they've locked him up, he won't.
She realizes she's crying when she feels her face getting wet. Dammit.
Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she puts the knife on the ground. Thinks about how easy it is to hold, how easy it is to use, how sometimes she forgets how to recognize pain in herself or in anyone else. It's been a long winter, metaphorically speaking anyway.
Alicia looks up when she notices someone walking towards her. It's Lyn, of course it is.
"Hey," she says, keeping her voice as flat as she can.
"Hey you," Lyn says, carefully. "I just wanted—how'd the rounds go? You look—"
Alicia shakes her head. "Just saw someone I recognized is all."
"From back there?" Whoa, there's an intensity Alicia hasn't seen in Lyn in a while.
"Yeah, one of them, you know." And because it's Lyn, she confesses, "I thought about killing him."
"I would, if you asked me to," Lyn says, and yeah, Alicia knows. She also knows she should probably not let Lyn know which one of the prisoners it was.
"No, don't, I think maybe, you know, death's too easy. I want him to see us win."
And Lyn grins at that, a smile with no joy in it but with all the fucking fire she has. "Yeah, I get that," is all she says.
She slides down the wall to sit next to Alicia, reaching out for the knife. "When are you going to teach me that one move, you know the one?"
"As soon as you stop over-reaching," Alicia says, and closes her eyes when Lyn splutters and starts talking about how she doesn't over-reach, never has, and then veers off on a tangent about the mural she's planning for the last and empty wall in their headquarters. When she gets to the clear, clear sky and the tiny tiny ghosts she wants to paint, Alicia reaches out and takes her hand.
It feels like an anchor, she thinks, and she doesn't smile, but she holds on a little tighter.