Silience

Reads: 237  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
"Save yourself from mental slavery" C.P Filander.
She had this excellence that always went unnoticed, and yet she radiated it every day. I could see it in her eyes, the way they glow, the passion behind them. But she keeps quiet, hides the feelings I know she wants to share, or at least I think that's what she thinks.

Submitted: May 28, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 28, 2017

A A A

A A A


“Save yourself from mental slavery. Clear your head of thing that burden you and limit your sight. Carve your own pathway that denies others entry into your realm and feed not those who find pleasure in your hurting but rather feed and give into those that treasure your existence and respect your thoughts, mind and body.”

I watched as she spoke. Her words spoken powerfully, every pause perfect, every word precise, and every piece of information clear and quite true. She spoke so that the whole room would know what she was saying, she spoke to allow words to be erupted through the room and bounce on the walls. She spoke wonderfully I would say.

But yet, it was fluid, her words were just water that trickled and flowed, yet there was no depth to it. She spoke as though she believed what she was saying even though her eyes deceived her. That was just it with her, she could only act so far, she could only give so much and thus her fighting, her strength never came through, and instead it fell at the feet of those like me who can see through this demur.

I watched as she thanked the class and waited for questions. A girls hand shot up and asked about why leaders did what they did. Her answer was simply, it was because they did not have the things she spoke about thirty seconds earlier. I wasn’t paying too much attention to her speech, I do know, however, and that I didn’t believe a word she was saying.

I watched as another hand rose up, like a whip it swished up into the air. I looked at this girl with her arm raised in the air. I watched as she stared at the girl standing, she had challenging eyes but the funniest part was how bored the speaker looked. She had the eyes of a person who was tired, no, the eyes of someone who was wasted, completely done with whatever she was talking about before they began.

“Do you believe that leaders can change for the better?”

“My belief is one of a cynic. I do not believe that people can change and therefore I doubt that a leader, such as though we have in power can fully change for the better and thus we are stuck in this spinning sphere and we just have to live in this dark world until we just drop dead”  

I’m sure she wanted to say that

“No, the problem with politics is that it us a very corrupt world and so change in a good way is probably not going to happen” she answered. I was getting irritated by her talking like this, going around questions and answering them so monotonously. I hated how her mouth just moved but there was not heart in her speech. It was sickening.

I shot up my hand. “Do you think that radicalism is the proper way to achieve change in your country and/ or world” I asked looked straight into her eyes. I watched as she looked through me, as though I was merely a thing to get through and not a person asking her a question. Does she look at everyone so fluidly, so windily, with such nothingness within her?

I stared at her as she though, yes I am asking this, and yes she has to answer unless she wants to lose marks. I watched as she popped in a smile and parted her lips to answer me. It felt like slow motion when she did this, tucking her cue cards into her blazer pocket and taking in a deep breath before answering me.

“Is it not funny how much change the human brain wants even though they do not know what they want to change?” she answered, “I grew up in a country” she says this while indicating the ground we are on, “That felt that change was needed, all this shouting and screaming for change, but it is all because fighting is within their systems. You know people want change, but they don’t know what in particular they want to change and if you don’t know what you want to change, things just might and you will get the very thing you didn’t want”

“It happened to Uganda, I bet you there where young men just like yourself and young women like the girls in the room who wanted change, they wanted a revolution because teenage minds are under this assumption that the loudest and most radical person is the person that gets the results that they wish to see, and yet, in many African countries in which the very change they wanted proved to be a near death experience.” She said.

“The revolution in Russia, communism, sometimes what we have is not the worst it could be, sometimes to be quiet is not bad. You do not have to fight to be heard, because once you have to raise your voice, it means no one wants to listen and if no one is listening then is what you want really that important?” she ended.

I watched her as she nodded with the end of her answer. She was severely irritated and yet her answer made sense. I believed in radicalism, fight to get what you want, but her, she just went with it. She just followed the parade and only when it is necessary does she actually do something. She breathed in slowly, and breathed out. Hold your breath, think, is it worth it?

I clapped a little thing and she cracked a smile, it was the first time I saw something genuine from that girl, she was always just that really sour type and for that sour lemon so crack a smile, I guess that put a smile on my face too. She looked passed me then, our little moment disappearing into thin air when the next person asked

“Who is the worst leader in your eyes?” she asked.

I wonder why most of the people asking are girls. And the worst part is that they know most of the answers already, they just want to hear her say what they want to hear in order to reassure themselves that they have the proper outlook on things. The other bad thing is when you don’t agree these little girls fight you, break you down, tear you apart and rip you to shreds if you don’t.

They cause you to question more than your opinion but also your morale, your skin tone, your culture your tradition. They cause your soul to be so emotionally drained as well as they make you feel wrong, like an error, as though your opinions cannot be welcomed into this little class room. It is sad because they believe its feminism, they believe its equality, and they walk around saying its fair, when it isn’t.

I watch as she pretends to search her mind, like she didn’t know her answer. I hear her speak out of class, the way she speaks poetically about all sorts of people and leaders and how she makes sure no stone goes unturned. But I also know this, as critical as she is, as analytical she, as sour and bitter and sure she is, she is also kind. I can see in her eyes more than anything that the feelings of others matter to her, and that’s why she lied with the following;

“I cannot choose the worst leader because all leader have their downfalls. Yes, the best leaders have the attributes I have mentioned, but that isn’t to say that leaders who do not have them are bad. Shockingly it is the things that leaders don’t do that makes them bad, rather than what they do” she said with a smile, “It is what the leader say they are going to do when they don’t. But sadly the world of politics is spilling with leaders like that”

She continues, “And therefore I say the worst leader is the liar, the lair that insists they are telling the truth, the leader that believes in lies and knows all too well that they are lying.”

“So no one in particular?” she continued her question.

I could see that she wanted to say; “duh! Did I not just imply that?!”

But no, she said this, “No one can be identified at the moment, no” she said.

“Do you suppose that you are a good president?” asked the teacher. She shot the teacher a dirty look that was disguised as a smile. It baffles me how little the teachers notice the scowls she send their way. I watch her, as disturbing as that sounds, but I enjoy watching her reactions. I notice how little she smiles, how when she does smile it is never really genuine, how her scowls and fits f anger are disguised as sweet nothings and kind words.

“No” she said simply.

I am too kind and giving. I care too much about the common man and I would concentrate on what needs attention instead of what is getting attention. I care too much for children and starving people rather than those who strike and shout. I am gentle and care not for the isms, I want peace and I ignore those who shout. I like to see people smile within anguish, who have hope in the pits of darkness, oh how I want to give the poor man hope, the sick woman faith, the troubled teen assurance…”

I wanted her to say that, I wanted her to say what was really on her mind, what I know she knows she was talking about. I wanted her to really say that because I know she is like that. I have seen her, when she speaks against things, trying to teach people to be strong instead of forcing strength unto others. I have seen how she wants subtle change, how she knows how to achieve positive impacts on people.

I have seen that she has answers, she knows the facts, the way to make this world, this country, this province, this city, this street, this school and this class room a remarkably better place. And that’s the bad thing, the world doesn’t like politicians with answers, they prefer the radical complaisant ones with no answers and just wind blowing in their voices.

“I am impatient. I cannot tolerate incompetence and I cannot cope with people who refuse to learn.” She said, “I find riots and chaos and anarchy disgusting and the worst way to get results. I find war stupid and discrimination a silly state of mind. I believe in too many things to be swayed in the world of politics” she said again.

“Even if I could be a good leader; that does not imply I could be a good politician, and sadly politics gets you into presidency.” She said, “There is only one thing that a leader and a politician have in common and that is leading others, as for the part of having the attributes to make you a good leader of people, I do not think that that is a characteristic of a politician” she said simply.

I smiled. I guess that I was happy that she answered something I agreed with, something that I know she agreed with. I could see it in her forehead how the furrows eased and how she felt at ease. The posture in her back simplified and her face was calm. That pretty heart shaped face of her calmed, her puffy lips curved in a slight sincere smile and those puffy cheeks were slightly raised. At least she spoke her mind.

She sat down beside me, maybe it was the only open seat, because I wasn’t paying too much attention because the next speaker was going up. I watched as she stared at this other speaker, her dark eyes grew serious as she paid close attention. I watched as her lips pursed and her eyebrow raised when the speaker, Blessing was her name, said

“Do not be conformed into society, we need radical change” Blessing said. She leaned over and whispered in my ear, he lips slightly brushing against my ear

“I guess we have a leader on our hands, Ian” she said

“More like a politician” I whispered to her when the teacher wasn’t looking. All this girl was talking of was the very thing that Thandi was against. I knew it even though Thandi wouldn’t admit it. Maybe it was the way it worked with the girls in my class. “Why?” I asked her

“Why what?” she asked

“Why don’t you shut her down, tell her what you think” I tell her, “Tell them what you think” I say gesturing to the rest of the class

“Why die fighting a battle you know you’ll lose” she said

“Because you’ll fight with honour” I told her, not too sure of my answer

“Honour drenched in vain and stupidity?” she said, “Fighting is stupid when you’re up against the wildest warriors. Might as well keep quiet”

“And conform?” I asked knowing all too well that I just sound like one of many other people she was not too fond of

“Or sit and watch for their weak spot, wait till they have no more lies to tell, when they cannot bend the truth” she said, “When the world will see”

“And when is that.” I asked

“When people wake up” she answered simply, in a tone that would imply that I was thinking narrowly. I don’t know what it is with her but she sounds as though she believes she is of higher powers.

“And when is that” I urge her to speak, I wish she would say what I want her to say, it would make both our lives easier.

“When we free ourselves” she says.

“We aren’t kept captive” I tell her.

“That’s just it” she said as she rubbed her hand on mine, “We believe we are being locked up and others have the key, but we do not realise that the key is held by our minds and we have to free ourselves from mental slavery first.” She said.

And then i realise, we are the ones who lock ourselves up and expect others to give us the answers, to serve us what he require on a silver plate, but it is us that are locking ourselves up, hoping and prayer that this leader of ours will provide. We cannot see, we are blind to the fact that we can do things for ourselves. A true leader would remind us of that, with a politician would tell us we need to change that.


© Copyright 2017 HarrowsSilence. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

More Literary Fiction Essays

Booksie 2017-2018 Short Story Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by HarrowsSilence

Therapy

Essay / Romance

Blues Music

Short Story / Romance

Silience

Essay / Literary Fiction

Popular Tags