NationStates Jolt Archive

I can recall exactly where I was when it happened. Many Americans can tell you what they were doing when the planes hit the towers, what shirt they were putting on, what highway they were on, what class they were in. It's one of those flashpoint moments that freeze everything in your memory, every sight, sound, and smell. A moment where eveything changes, for better or worse. A moment that will stand the test of time and be remembered for years and generations to come.

The day I am talking about is the day that the hopes and aspirations of my people were so horribly dashed. A day that had such great possibilities for a bright future for our country, turned ugly and diseased by the hate and fear of those who corrupted our cause. The cause: Freedom. A noble and epic cause that swept our hearts and minds. A cause that we were willing to lay down our lives for. A cause that could not be snuffed out by the regime, but a cause that can be infected by those who wish to pursue their own means. Our cause was so pure, like Artic water, glistening with purity and divine purpose, poisioned by a single yet powerful drop that spread slwoly, tangling and dancing through the pure water, finally clouding the original purity, turning it into something else entirely, something ugly.

But to understand that day, we must examine the days before, each day shaping that eventual watershed day. The day of Two Revolutions...

"Samira!" My mother calls out from the kitchen. She had such a beautiful voice. My father fell in love with her because in his words, she spoke just like an angel. But not when she was angry. She was tough, yet ladylike.

"Yes mama?" I reply, perring into the kitchen, fearful that I did something wrong but I replayed the day in my mind and can;t think of anything I did to anger her such.

"What is that on the counter?" she says while skinning some potatoes. I look over and see one of my pamphlets sitting on the counter. It's a leaflet that a student organization at the university handed to me.

"A piece of paper" I smart off.

"Samira, do not tempt me" my mother's voice is sharper than the knife she is currently holding. My eyes gaze down at it as it raises and falls upon a potato, slpitting it in half, I gulp and rethink my answer.

"It's just a silly student organization at the university, they were passing them out to everyone, I just took one and barely read it." I lie.

She shoots me a scowl but decides to drop the subject and asks "How was school the past week?" I am currently home for the weekend, away from college. Now, I wish I had stayed up there.

"Classes go just fine. My journalism mid-term is coming up and have been studying for it like crazy" I laugh it off, leaving out about half of my activities.

"Good, may you do well" My mother wishes. She checks the oven one last time and moves about gracefully around the kitchen.

"Can I help with anything?" I offer.

"No, I have everything under control. Your father and sister should be getting back soon-" she pauses "Well, you can set the table" she relents.

"Sure, no problem" I reply and moved behind her to get to a drawer, cleverly taking the leaflet and folding it quietly, hiding it in my jeans' pocket. I take some silverware and set them on the table and return to my room. I lay flat on my stomach atop the messy bed and unfold the leaflet. It's from the Youth Activist League which is branching out at the University of Hadra. What I did not tell my mother is that I am a member, since last year and am an active participant in the YAL.

(OOC: Basically, Sirjan is going through political unrest, mirroring the Iranian revolution. My character is a student activist and supporter of a pro-democratic movement that is sweeping the nation. The Shah of Sirjan is strangling political freedoms and there is an emerging Islamic group as well.