Chapter 2
Two months before….
A Dawn
of Promise
By
Lisa Rhimes
The
morning sun cadenced through the pale semen curtains, disturbing unperturbed
sleepy eyelids. The warm bed swallowed the petite girl, drowning her in the
warmth of her Egyptian cotton sheets. The feelings of sheer comfort overwhelmed
her senses, assisting her in her fight to stay in bed for just a little longer.
Her reluctance to get out of bed and get ready for a tiring day at university
was an everyday battle. Her mum’s constant nagging started a ritual uproar,
forcing her to eventually give up, to open her eyes and embrace the new day. A
day filled with hope and happiness. A day filled with promise.
Some
140 000 000 kilometers away lay a lifeless body, with eyes that refuses to
close. The setting sun glistens in the distance yet she does not wish to follow
the rays of light with her eyes. An innocent eighteen year old girl drowning in
a pool of her own blood. The discomfort of having her leg blown off magnifies
the intensity of the pain that pulses through her every vein. She set off for
university in the morning with the hope of staying alive for yet another day so
that she could go back to her university to seek more knowledge again tomorrow.
The state of the war that cursed the people of her country made it almost
impossible to continue with normal daily routines yet she resisted living in
constant fear. She had a right to
education and she would not let the war take away yet another one of her
rights. Her reluctance to stay cooped up in her home had got her shot. Her necessary
denial of the fear that has become a part of them all had resulted in her
gasping for one last breath, a last chance to live. She wishes to ignore the
pain and to run as fast as she can to her mother. She wants to embrace her one
more time. Being the sole living member of a family of five her mother would
now lose any hope she had left. This eighteen year old girl had left home
promising her mother that she would stay safe. Eventually after hours of not
returning her mother would realize that she had broken the promise. She had
gained more knowledge but she had lost the battle to stay alive. With the sound
of the screams of other hurt victims, she gives up; she closes her eyes with
prayer resounding on her lips.
The
war may someday end; hope, happiness and promise may begin again but what about
that mother? That mother who had her whole family wiped out by weapons of war
in a matter of weeks. Can the light of peace ever overcome the darkness she
faces because of the war? What about the hopelessness that will fill her tears?
After the war will she ever have her hope restored? Or will she too be
destroyed before the war ends?
Vision
Magazine
The lecture hall filled up as promptly as the
lecture had begun. We were expected to pre-read the rather tear-jerking short
story which featured in Vision Magazine and was written by a world renowned
journalist who drew inspiration from the ongoing war in the Middle East. Even
though it was a narrative piece, it used hardcore facts as its starting
point.
The slender, cheeky-looking lecturer stared at the crowd with preying
eyes that were visible through her square-framed Vogue glasses. She pointed a
lean finger towards me. “You,” she said. I flinched, my insides were screaming.
The thought of being asked a question in front of people I barely knew scared
me. The thought of being asked a question and not knowing the answer petrified
me even more. The question was asked in a stern and steady voice, “What do you
think it means that journalists play the watchdog role?” I hesitated and
eventually opened my mouth to squeak out the words, “Journalists watch over
their society and the world. They act as the eyes and ears of people within
their society and report what they see to them. They watch public figures and
expose truths.” She gave somewhat of an arrogant smirk. “The truth is of utmost
importance. Hence as journalists it’s important that you get your facts
straight.” “But
what happens when there are two different sides to a story. Which side do you
consider to be the truth?” a deep voiced boy stood up and enquired. “It is your
duty as a journalist to report both sides and give both parties an equal
hearing.” She pranced forward yelling the word, “Objectivity.” “Journalists
should always remain objective. Never ever get personally involved in your
story.” That’s easy, I
thought. You are reporting about people who make no sort of difference in your
life in any way so there’s no need to get so involved in your story that
feelings begin to cloud your judgments. Miss Meany advanced forward carefully
studying the eager faces of a few of the hundred plus students that made up her
class. “The news currently reveals the
shocking truth of the war that is occurring in the Middle East. The video clips
of the dead bodies that appear on the daily news makes hearts melt and souls
ache. It gains our attention and makes us stop what we doing and listen and
these television features makes us feel sympathy or rather empathize with these
victims of war,” she stated. “How do magazines sells stories on war or on
countries in a state of unrest?” The question albeit a rhetorical one had got
everyone in her lecture hall thinking. Sensationalism,” she screeched. “Sensationalism is used in most magazines and
online sites today. It is a way of presenting facts and events by using
shocking words to grab people’s attention and get them interested to read the
article further. Sensationalism is also a technique of representing truths and
facts in a way that makes them seem more shocking than they really are. Although
we try to break free from this technique, sensationalism sells and it is
trending.”
The next hour of the lecture passed by with more facts and journalistic
jargon and I must have drifted into daydream land as I could not even remember
the way in which the lecture had ended. All I knew was my first assignment
awaited me and I was keen on setting the bar high. The creative writing task to
kick start our journalistic portfolio did not have to relate to current events,
but it had to use facts as a starting point. The lecturer wanted a short story for a
magazine, a sensationalized story just like the one written by Lisa Rhimes. One
that would sell copies. I decided the quality of work I submitted for
journalism class would be my best work ever. I was set to draw inspiration for
my story from rather unlikely sources but I was yet to see that inspiration
would draw me and that my story would be written by me from the story of
another.
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