Tuesday, December 22, 2015

A Man's World: A Diary by Arlene MacArthur. Entry One- Behind Those Hazel Eyes

December 22, 2015,
12:09 PM,
Warricksville

Dear Diary,

I am opening you today in the hopes that one day, someone will discover this and understand the realities that I and many other women in Birea go through. You see, because Birea's media is so good, all the world sees are women who seem to be nothing but smiles and radiance as they happily serve their male counterparts, all while Birea sells their country “as a dream.”

See, what I want you to know is that what I live is not a dream. What I live in is a nightmare. A horrible nightmare where I wish I could one day wake up from and pretend my horrors don't exist. Instead, I must go through it, every day, slogging through the aches and the pains as well as the sweat and the tears of being way overworked and underappreciated. One day, I hope to escape from all that. One day.

First, I should tell you who I am. My name is Arlene MacCarthy. I'm 26 years old, and I have lived in Warricksville since I was 13. I used to live in George Bay, a small town on Celebes, but I was sold by my father once I became a teen, because, as I understand, my dad was a heavy user of heroin and needed to settle off some debts. I was whisked away on a boat and I never did see my father or the rest of my family ever again.

Right away, I was abused. I was shorn of my clothes and chained to a bed, day in, day out, so that my new master could have sex with me whenever he wanted. A doctor did monitor my progress and kept me fed and in good health, but he too eventually couldn't resist the urge to take advantage of me so he too began to mount me and have his way. Eventually, the two of them realized what 'prize' they had and they team up for their assaults on me, 'experimenting' and grinning in glee and high fiving each other after every encounter while leaving me in a pile of tears. For one month, on this boat, I had to endure this daily, before I received relief once we hit the shore.

Once at the shore, I met another man, a middle-aged gentleman who told me his name was Jack. He wore a dress shirt and black slacks, along with a fez, and he looked like a sage with hazel eyes, a pointed beard and moustache. He saw the many bruises that I had and that I could barely walk, so he went up to the man who held me captive on the boat and started to yell and scream at him. Jack openly admonished him, asking him how they could treat a girl like me this way. Jack then punched the man in the face and walked away in a huff, shaking his head.

Jack then walked up to me and looked me straight in the eye. He was moved, visibly shaken by what he saw from me. As I peered into his hazel eyes I could see the tears forming in them. He caressed my cheek and stroked my hair, all while keeping his hazel eyes trained on me. I could see a grizzled man, someone for whom life had dealt a very bad card, someone who struggled and felt that nothing at all made sense in this world. The light in his eyes were gone, replaced by a dying ember that seemed to long for a simpler time.

“I'm sorry he did this to you,” said Jack to me, his hazel eyes still staring at me. “The people of this country...they don't understand Nathanism. They got lost in lust and their selfish desires and assume servitude means slavery...they don't understand that even then, a slave has a soul.” He then put my forehead against his and clutched the back of my head, continuing to look me straight in the eyes, with tears beginning to form.

“By gosh, what a beautiful soul you have!” Jack exclaimed, which made my heart melt so much I lunged forward and hugged him as if he was my real father, which at the moment felt like he was. With his crying I soon began to cry myself, and the two of us held each other for what seemed like an eternity before he invited me inside so he could make me dinner.

Unfortunately, as time passed I realized Jack's niceties was merely a ruse, designed so that he would gain my trust and my devotion, all so that he could manipulate me. It wasn't too long before he too would pressure me into doing chores for him and having sex with him, and I never raised a peep of protest, since in my youth I thought that this was the way it was, because Nathanism taught me this as I grew up.

However, as I got older I got more perceptive, and my life just didn't seem to make sense to me. Where was my benefit? What did I gain blindly following whatever Jack wanted? I would ask Jack these questions all the time but he always came back with 'this is what God wants, and you will please God by pleasing me.' In time, it just didn't make any sense. Why was it my duty to please him? Why was everything always about Jack? Why couldn't it once be about me?

Anyway, I need to cut this short, because I hear those footsteps climbing up those stairs. Ugh...why can't he give me a break for once?

-Arlene