A Word from You writer’s showcase allows writers to get feedback the easy way – by sharing their works-in-progress with our community. The delightful thing about Suzanne Morse’s submission for A Word from You is that it originally began as a piece for our Independence Date contest – but, as with many creative endeavors, it sprouted and grew into something more substantial. “The short piece got my juices flowing to where it is now developing into a full-blown story,” explains Suzanne. She now offers you the first chapter, in order to get your constructive criticism and helpful insight. Suzanne, we look forward to more chapters!

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Freedom Fighter:  Chapter 1

Thump, thump, Barbara’s shoes smacked on the asphalt as she ran through the plaza in the dark, dodging the cement benches, weaving around the bushes and trees.  Slivers of light danced in front of her as she sped past a streetlight.  But mostly, she tried to stay in the shadows, not to be seen.  She had to escape.  To freedom.  But she could hear them, their heels clomping in the dark as they chased her.  They were going to execute her in the morning, but she had escaped, squeezed her way out through the tiny window.  Now she was running for her life.  Her breath poured in and out rapidly.  Her running stayed in rhythm.  She would not give up.

Barbara had been passionately protesting against the oppression of women in this region, railing aloud in the streets, drawing crowds of others who nodded to her words.  Women were not allowed to attend meetings, own any property, speak up in public on any issue, much less protest in the streets.  Her loud voice on the street corners had attracted curious onlookers, secretly-cheering women, and irate men.  Now that the media plastered her face across the airwaves and the crowds were overflowing the plazas, the authorities had come and arrested her for violating the Law.  The police walked up to her, clubbed her over the head, threw her to the ground, and handcuffed her hands behind her back.  They had led her off in front of the fanfare to warn those who might follow in Barbara’s footsteps.  They were sent there to silence her.  There was no official trial. After five days where Barbara endured beatings and torture, it was announced publically that she had committed heinous crimes in ignoring the Law and was to be executed.  In the morning, she was to be publically executed after the men in power denounced her efforts.  But she had crawled up the wall to the tiny window and squeezed through.  The chase was on, her body still aching from the beatings.

She could hear her executioners just behind her.  She ducked into the shadows and thrust forward with everything she had.  She just had to make it to the nearby hills, where she knew they were.  The Freedom Fighters.  They’d been called Women Terrorists.  The women soldiers would sneak out at night, like phantoms, kill a man on the street, in his home, quietly, without warning, bomb a building owned by the oppressive men, then swiftly disappear back into the shadows unnoticed.  Only a few had fallen prey to the police.  Most of them alluded capture.  The women who still lived in the city awed them, but never spoke aloud of it.  They were the Freedom Fighters, their future saviors.  Now Barbara ran for those hills.  It was join the fight or die. Her legs ached and she grew tired but she pushed on, determined.

Suddenly, a silhouette emerged from the darkness and grabbed her arm.  She turned and clawed at the face, pushing desperately against it, but the grip was strong.  Another shape grabbed around her chest and threw her to the ground.  She didn’t want to die so she bit at the hands and scratched, attempting to wriggle free, but now there were four of them. One grabbed her hands, yet another held her legs.  She squirmed and wriggled.  She would not give up.  She chomped down on the hand that now dragged her into the dark alley, then into a back door into the darkness of an abandoned building.  As she struggled, she heard a gruff woman’s voice.  “You were right, Karen.  She is a fighter.  She might serve us well.  Meliska will be pleased.”

There was heavy breathing in the dark.  “Varuna said she would make a warrior,” another woman’s voice spoke above her head.  “I took the chance and believed her.”

“You have done well,” the first woman spoke again.  “Let us get her to the Lair.  Once the others have completed their mission.”

A sack slid over her head, but Barbara suddenly relaxed.  They were the Freedom Fighters and they had come to recruit her.   As she sat motionless in the dark, she heard them whispering, the women.  A door creaked open and the soft pattering of feet.  “Susqul, we got them!” another woman exclaimed.  “But Daphne died.”

“Daphne is dead?”  the first woman asked.  Barbara could hear the disappointment in her voice.

“Daphne died courageously, Susqul.  She was shot in the plaza.  Her blood now stains the sidewalk.”  Barbara deduced that the first woman who spoke must be named Susqul and the one in charge.

A very heavy sigh in the darkness.  “She will be honored when we return to the Lair,” Susqul spoke slowly.  “For now, we must leave.”

Barbara was made to stand up and was led to a vehicle.  It whizzed off into the night.  She didn’t know how many women there were, but she knew it had to be a lot.  She sat silent, grateful for a second chance at Life.

Susqul’s  voice broke the silence.  “You did good, all of you.  You recruited us another warrior, and you killed them all.”

“All of the executioners we killed, we did,” another woman answered enthusiastically.

“Meliska will be pleased,” Susqul stated again.  “But we must first mourn the loss of Daphne.  She will be honored in the usual way.”

It was then that Barbara realized that there was no one to intercept them and take her back for execution.  They had killed all those who dared to chase her.  Like phantoms in the night, they had come and gone.  The life and death struggle was over for now.  Yet, Barbara felt in her heart that her struggle had just begun.

“Karen, you know what you must do now,” Susqul’s voice was commanding.

“Yes, I do,” the Karen voice answered.

Someone grabbed Barbara’s arm.  She felt a sting and pinch on her arm, then she felt very dizzy and sleepy.  The sack was removed from her head as she fell unconscious.

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Readers, it is up to you – please leave your thoughts in the comment box below.