The Abar isn’t known for their creative architecture. Stock standard utility buildings with a dark gray finish. The citizen when on the rare occasion we can visit other countries always talk of the vibrant colors. There were buildings and art that served no purpose yet they were made. And not just made but maintained, treasured.
The Abar are quite proud of this fact, the ones that never saw anything else anyway. They would claim the rest of the world focuses on things that don’t matter. While you looked at your “art” I worked on what’s real and important.
Fran was one of those people. She was a proud Abar till our government failed her. This happy girl that would sing so beautifully, she was forced into a marriage with a man she did not love or care for her. He hated her singing, her art. He tried his best to control this side of her, hoping a child would turn her sane. While Ike is now a beloved family member, in those days he let his perfect ideas of Fran rule his mind. This misguided man made my sister so miserable that one day she left.
Those times were hard, I remember my father quitting his job to look everywhere for her. He’d put up the posters with a reward for any information. Of course us Abar don’t tend to care about the broken in our society, even more so the broken women. As for myself I never joined my father in his search for her. Truthfully I hoped we never found her, that she would be free on some beautiful island. Doing as she pleases without a world to judge her.
Those dreams were crushed when we got the papers that Fran was euthanized by our loving government. They deemed her to be an unproductive mentally ill citizen. She spent three days in a barren cell waiting to be “humanely” killed. On each of those days the director would offer her a way back to the world if she gave up her fellow rebels. My sister of course refused.
I ask you here citizens of Abar if you’re okay with this? If you’re okay with our own mothers,sisters,aunts,friends to be killed by our leaders? Surely you would want a world where we are taken seriously. The idea my sister was mentally ill is nothing more than a falsehood and we all know it. She believed in her ideas however alien to us. Not in mental weakness but in such a way she was willing to die for them. My sister was a sane woman murdered for having the bravery to save her own. This is something, I hope at least; we can all respect for each other.
I’m a good woman to my husband, my kids, and yes my country. Despite what my leaders did I still believe in Abar, so to question my loyalty is not to read my words. I ask my own people if this nation, no matter how great, should let good women die for her own ideals and then spit on them by calling her insane? Shouldn’t our loyalty allow us to make our country better by criticizing it?
I’ll miss you Fran. Your singing will stick with me forever. In my dreams I still hear your lullabies, they still comfort me. Your art was beautiful, if only the matchmaker gave you a husband that could appreciate it. I know you and Ike had your differences. If you were here now I would tell you he appreciated everything you were he just didn’t have the words to tell you.
While we never saw eye to eye you will still always be the best sister I could have.