Just keep adding onto the story please!
I walked down the long winding dirt road that led out beyond the market place. My skirt was flowing around me on the windy day. I walked alone.
The market had once been a lively place of warmth, but the spark was gone. Wilted tomatoes hung on dead vines. It was dusty inside, and all of the cashiers had a scowl on their face which showed their extreme hatred for pretty much everything. She felt herself flashing back to a better time...
(not the best, but i'm trying :P)
Remembering myself, I glanced down at my shopping list: lamp oil, rope, and matches. By the grace of God, no one in the marketplace would grow a brain long enough to realize what these three commonplace items would be making. Bombs. Bombs that would fuel the Revolution.
I remembered when my father worked here. he had a smile big enough it warmed the whole town. Now, he never smiles. The Revolution is all he ever talks about. he tells me how corrupt the government is, how they take away our basic rights. He knows that if he is found to be a part of the Revolution, he will be captured and killed. Even speaking out against government is forbidden. But what the government doesn't know is that the Revolution is so strong, we can overthrow them, provided we arm ourselves with bombs.
(ps. sorry my last post was in 3rd person my bad)
But still that is not what I want. That is not what any of the women want, but the men never stop and ask us our opinion anymore. The importance of women is long forgotten just like the good old days my mind often wanders too. The days when people greeted each other happily with a smile. Or when we danced together on the streets listening to the sound of flutes, and cooking birds to eat later in the night. Why don’t we dance like that anymore? I think I will right now. So as I dance down the road I earn the looks of everyone in the marketplace. while I progress down the road I see a glimmer coming from near the entrance to the forest. I leap gracefully along, cutting my bare feet on the way. I could swear it’s just my mind playing tricks on me but I start to hear the magical high pitched sound of the flute, the same melody we used to play in the old days. I see a man playing on a rock nearby. As he sees me dancing he stands and I assume he will strike me down since dancing is frowned upon these days, but before I know it he is dancing along with me. The shine in his eyes starts to hypnotise me. He places his arm around my waist and gently lifts my hand and starts to twirl me. I feel him twirl me faster and faster, I feel myself slipping away from reality. I start to feel very tired but can not pull myself away from him. The last thing I remember before nodding off is looking into those mysterious deep set eyes.
i awoke in an alternate universe than the dream i had just experienced. My parents are sitting in my room with their arms crossed. They wear scowls on their faces. I sit up suddenly, knowing something is wrong.
"You could've been killed!" my mother exclaims.
"Ya. Suppose they found you," my father said, "they know about us, about the Revolution." he holds with him a bag carrying the supplies to build a bomb.
i felt defeated. my mother cared too much about my safety to realize that we were being oppressed, while my father cared too much about fighting oppression to worry about my safety. All i wanted was to find him, the boy who danced. He was all i could think about. I remember someone saying to me "If you can't get someone out of your mind, maybe they're supposed to be there."
The government workers are coming through town today to take a census. Father calls the census workers scoundrels, beasts, men of the devil himself. I hear a knock at the door and know immediatly who it is.
"How many persons in this living quarters?" a man asks. I look up at him and almost faint.
It's the boy who danced.
He looks just like he did in my dream ( was it a dream?) the same hypnotic dark green eyes. I swear he grinned when he looked at me. I found myself starting to smile, then I looked at what he was wearing. A blue and gold unifrom. The colors of the Government. I almost fainted, again.
He looked at me with dark,cold eyes as I stood behind my parents who stood in front of me protectivly."Only three sir,"My father answered."Me,my wife,and daughter."I then put an arm out to grab my fathers forearm to steady myself.
The boy nodded, and I felt myself slip lower and lower into a hole of fear and depression. All I wanted was one more dance, to sway to the tune of the flute and have his arm place around my waist like before. No, that was over now. He was counting, collecting the information the government needed. He was one of them, one of the people who destroyed the life I used to have and replaced happiness with a waver of aggression.
He wrote something down. "How old is your daughter?" He asked, pen poised in hand. "16 or 17. We stopped counting," my father says with complete honesty. He stopped counting after the rebels united. I was merely 14 when it began, now I'm marriageable. The boy, my boy, writes this down with the slightest glimmer of satisfaction. I am disgusted.
"Have you been cited in a revolution report in the past six months?" he asks. My mind is trying hard to switch thoughts, from the dance, to last week's report. My father was listed on the Class 4 watch list. I remember easily because thsat was when we figured out the were on to us, or at least would be soon. But government has gotten so paranoid about security that Class 4 could just simply mean you played golf with someone you shouldn't have. The dance.
I stopped paying attention to what they were saying. I could only think of the one talking, watching his jaw flex and reflex, just allowing itself to speak casually when he was saying such horrible words. I attempted to look down, away from him, but my eyes stayed focused on his lips. His light pink and tan mixture of colors, the tiny freckle above the left side that wouldn't be noticeable unless you had really studied his face. The way they were chapped slight at the middle made my body groan from the inside out in protest, but my heart just continued to swoon. They looked so soft, so bare... I wanted to cover his lips with my own.