Nothing but four walls and midnight wails.
Habibah think she hears Amira screaming, and wonders when it’s her turn.
They had been in the kitchen together making sweets; sisters, safe in the haven of their father’s home when the Mutawa came.
Their faces were veiled but the girlish voice of the neighbor’s daughter Farida could not be disguised.
“Sisters. please follow,” she sniggered
You always obeyed the Mutawa.
They were separated on arrival. Now Habibah had waited for eleven nights.
Waited to confess being a woman wishing to study.
“Haram,” Farida once hissed — too stupid to read for herself.
Pretty obvious I with the picture that this has to be a prison, and my thought wandered to the strict laws for women in countries like Saudi-Arabia, but also that you often can accuse someone for almost everything under such laws, and how power can work.
Writing for Friday Fictioneers is not a prison, but it’s still a place where you can check in any time you will but you can never leave. Rochelle makes sure that we all keep addicted to the challenge of finding stories in hundred words from the same picture.
If you click on the frog below you might release him, or you will be sent to the linkup with all the other stories.