Before His Choice (His 0.5)

I stare at the ground in front of me … the dug up soil and the giant hole that appeared when they were done. There’s space for just one person there. There’s no bed, no soft cushion, nothing to make the final resting place more comfortable for my mother.

I stare at her body wrapped in thick white shrouds as they hoist her down into the hole. It’s strange looking at that thing and imagining it’s my mother. One day, I’m still talking to her … then the next, her smile was gone forever.

I wonder what she looks like underneath those sheets. If they covered her skin in paint to hide the bruises. If anyone had ever noticed or cared to tell another soul about her suffering.

I didn’t … and now I pay the price.

But I won’t cry a single tear. Not today. Not with this man standing behind me, clutching my shoulder, burying his fingers into my skin as if to say, “You’re mine, and you know this will happen to you too if you don’t obey the rules.”

I’ve never wanted to swear before, but he definitely makes me want to do it.

I close my eyes as they cover her body with sand slowly but surely. It feels like it takes forever, and the rain falling down on my face provides little relief. There’s no easy way to deal with this, no pill to swallow to take away this pain I feel in my heart.

And when my eyes break open again, all I can look at is her.

That girl in her cute little dress and the beautiful smile that appears when her eyes connect with mine.

I don’t need words to know what she’s thinking, and I don’t need to hold her hand to know she’s there for me.

I just pray to God this won’t happen to her, too.

***

A few months later

I’m searching the grounds for bugs to add to my collection. I have a box under my bed where I keep them. Luckily, my father hasn’t found out yet, or they’d have been thrown out already … me along with it.

I sift through the grass on my hands and knees, poking at the sand to see if anything comes up. Hearing some sniffles from a hut makes me pause and look up. It’s definitely coming from there. Sounds like someone’s crying. Maybe they need help.

I walk up to it and listen near the door. Someone’s definitely crying in there. I knock. The sniffles stop, but no one replies. “Hello?”

No response.

I knock again and then push the door open.

In the corner, near the fireplace, sits a woman with her face buried in her hands.

“Are you okay?” I ask as I approach.

When she looks up, I stop in my tracks. It’s her mother.

I heard in passing from some of the matriarchs that she flees often and usually gets found a day later by the guards. Is this the hut where she always goes?

“Sorry, no, but … don’t mind me,” she says, wiping away her tears.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” I say.

She shakes her head. “If anyone finds you here with me, you might be punished too.”

As a man, I’m allowed to go wherever I want, but she … as a woman … can’t. And that strikes me as unfair. She clearly has a good reason. Why else would she be here?

She slides aside her auburn hair and tucks it behind her ear. That’s when I notice the dark bruising on her collarbone.

I gasp. “So she was right. He hits you.”

Her eyes widen, and when she realizes I’ve seen, she immediately covers herself up further with her scarf. “Please don’t tell anyone that I’m here.”

“I won’t, I promise,” I reply. “But you have to tell me why.”

Her face darkens. “It’s nothing you can solve.”

“I want to try. At least give me a chance.” I grab her hand.

She smiles gently. “You still have such soft hands, untouched by violence.” She pulls me toward her. “What can I do about this? Nothing.”

“It’s dangerous for your daughter,” I say, worming my hand away from her grip. “Let me help.”

“How?” she asks.

I think about it for a second. There’s only one option to get to safety … and that’s out.

“I can get her out,” I say.

Her eyes widen. “No, that’s not possible.”

“It is. I can bring her with me on one of our trips to convert people.”

She looks around skittishly and sucks on her bottom lip. “You could do that? Would you be willing? You know it’s dangerous, right?”

She’s thought of it too, I’m sure, and that’s why she’s so eager to let me.

This isn’t the first time I’ve contemplated this. Violence is a part of this community even though the leaders try so desperately to hide it. Pain always leaves cracks in the surface that are easy to spot. I don’t intend to let her succumb to it.