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He continued to pound my mother with punches, screaming out, “Why do you disobey me,” over and over again. After a few minutes of blows to the chest, arms, and face, my mother crumpled to the ground. Blood stained my mother’s dress and covered her whole body.
As I watched this, tears ran down my cheeks. When my mother took her last breath, my father laughed at her. The laugh was evil, dripping with pure hatred. I gasped and my father turned to face me. “Get upstairs, you little brat.” My eyes widened in terror and I shot up. I peeked at my mother one last time and scrambled up the stairs.
While I was walking down the street remembering my mother’s last words, tears formed on my eyes. I blinked furiously, trying to be brave. I was fighting for women’s rights because of my mother. She had died fighting for it and I won’t let anyone get me down. Not my own father, not anyone. I continued down the street, back straight, chin up, feeling proud of my
mother.
I would win this fight against men, I would.
Great, another man to beat the crap out of me.
When she walked in the door, my father was sitting in a chair, staring at my mother with a furious glare.
Yes, it is dangerous for us women, but it’s worth it.
writ3rindisguis3 wrote:He would probably beat me, like all the other women are when we get into “trouble”.
writ3rindisguis3 wrote:As I watched this, tears ran down my cheeks. When my mother took her last breath, my father laughed at her. The laugh was evil, dripping with pure hatred. I gasped and my father turned to face me.
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