She was only playing! She has never been taught of religion! She's mentally challenged! Somehow, no excuse seemed to justify Flora. Well, not anymore at least. We are now fleeing. She used to be the girl that everybody pitied. Now she was the girl all and sundry detested. But no matter how hard I would beg, no one would absolve her. Tears welled in my eyes as we packed up all of our belongings, destined for a new life far from here. Mother seemed wary of Flora. I was desperate for Mother to understand, it was her daughter, after all. Even Father, who adored Flora despite her many intellectual disabilities, seemed disturbed by the seeming outrageousness of the mentally-confronted girl burning a Bible. In so many ways I wanted to punish them for all the things that they had done wrong. Never teaching her about religion, leaving a lighter on the lounge table. For all we know, she could have burnt herself alive.
But now that's what the armed forces intend to do to her. Burn her to death. What sort of government are they if that is their aim: to kill disabled girls. They made me sick with repulsion. If they killed her, every breath I would take would crave their blood, every thought would be torturing them, each single heart beat to make them suffer. Why did I feel so strongly? Because that girl is my sister. My blood. My best friend.
I will get revenge on them. I vowed silently. They won't see it coming.
"Are we ready, then?" Father asked cautiously as he climbed into the car. I nodded, and Flora grunted; it was one of the only noises she could make. Father often glanced at us in the mirror, not noticing that I was staring right back at him. Mother turned to face Flora and I, narrowing her eyes as if trying to pick out anything unusual.
We only feared one thing. The toll road. It wasn't hard to spot a black Mercedes, driving quite quickly, a woman and a man, two daughters, one with ginger hair and the other disabled. If only we were less noticeable.
*TO BE CONTINUED*
© Copyright 2016 Sophie Turner. All rights reserved.