Womens Rights Narrative

August 18, 1883

I walked out my apartment on my way to the shopping centre as my Husband Mikey didn’t have the chance to before work and was instantly bomb barded with women and children holding posters and signs, again. This has been my routine for the last 6 months and honestly I’m not disturbed with what the signs say. “EVERY VOTE COUNTS” and “VOTE FOR WOMEN” they signs shouted louder than their voices in hopes of them being heard but unfortunately that time hasn’t come yet. I’ve always wanted to march with them, but Mickey would never agree, actually, no man would. Mikey was just like the rest, but that’s not his fault. Its societies. I guess I am too though, I don’t love Mikey. I never did when I married him. Do you understand how impossible life would be without him, he can work and earn his money. Ah, good luck women! Actually, there is this one person. They have the more precious smile and their laugh, aw their laugh. They are so motivated and self-confident, so dauntless and brave, kind and generous. She holds the signs every morning when I walked out my apartment door. She’s part of the reason I want to march. I haven’t got her name, if anyone suspects anything. That wouldn’t be good. I check the time and shit! It’s 4:55 PM! Mikey should be home any minute. I quickly run around the house and hide my journal, before racing for the kitchen. Turning the kettle on and making a coffee with no sugars or milk in a freshly cleaned mug, Mikey walks in the door. “Would you like your coffee over in your chair dear?” I say with a warm smile. I don’t hate him, I just can’t love him. “No Alissa, I don’t” He says sternly. Almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, so do mine. “I want to march with the other women and children” I shiver, he doesn’t say a thing. He stands up and extends his hand, connecting it to my cheek. I winced in pain, scared to cry. That wasn’t the first time Mikey has hit me and I know it wouldn’t be the last time, especially on this topic. He lowers his tense body back into the chair and picks up the Newspaper I collected from the paper shop. Idiot! I thought in my head, why would I think anything would I believe that I can march too.

August 19, 1883 At least the redness in the check has gone down some more. I’m not going to have to explain myself all over again. I walked out the door again today but today was different. She knocked. On my door. I can’t believe it. She extended her hand to shake mine and I took hers, returning the favour. “Hello” She spoke with confidence which I admired. I smiled and closed my door. “I wanted to march” I said in fear of someone hearing other than her. She nodded, took my hand and we marched. I closed my journal and began to reminisce. She was so confident and strong. She told me about her single life and how she is free. She told me that we shouldn’t cave but are forced too. She explained that men love control so we give it to them and get nothing in return. Its bullshit! She was right, but I couldn’t leave Mikey. She can live in freedom and scrap the bottom of the bucket for money every week, just enough to live. That’s not my life. I can’t live like that. I deserve to live like that but I can’t. I was startled when the front door was slammed shut and a furious Mikey walked through the door with a red hand print appearing on his right cheek. I rushed to him before being slapped myself. “Women think because they march in my street, their opinion matters!” He yelled as I whimpered. Alissa had slapped him after he told them to get out of his street and I’m paying for it? Perfect! She stood up to him, she did it without fear. She was brave.