by Kipjo Ewers
“Ms. Dennison…” He lowered his head, contemplating the best Presidential response to her statement.
“I don’t want your jobs, Mr. President,” she said. “I wouldn’t want it in a billion years. I prefer to be a mother… a good one. However, I cannot close my eyes and ignore the millions of people screaming for change that is constantly denied to them because of bureaucratic red tape. You’re going to create real change in this world… all of you. You will all find a way to work together, to do so without compromise. Your timeline is seven years starting the first day of the General Assembly whether you choose to play that video or not.”
“What happens if…” he asked slowly, afraid to hear the answer.
“I step in, and affect change,” she answered knowing his question. “And so you know I mean business, I’ll be doing little projects here and there, so that all of you will know that this matter is not up for debate.”
“What if you meet with opposition?” he asked.
“They’re welcome to try, although I think I’ve seen how pointless that would be.” She laughed. “Like I said, this is not some new tyrannical rule. You should look at it as motivation to get your ducks in a row and begin to do the right thing. In time you won’t see this as something you are forced to do, you’ll see it as something that should have been done a long time ago, something that was well over due. Your actions as well as mine will inspire humans and superhumans alike that this can be a better world to live in, and that we must all work together as a family to achieve that goal. We cannot expect the world and future generations to change and be better if we do not lead by example, and we must start leading by example, not tomorrow, not two years from now, but today.”
The President smiled and nodded. Sophia hoped that the look in his eyes read that it was hard to argue with her logic. It would not change her decision, but she still prayed he understood.
“You have my word that the UN Council will see your message,” he promised.
“Thank you,” she nodded. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I’ve have to do this superhero thing.”
“What’s that?” he chuckled.
“Go look for trouble,” she smirked.
The President backed up as Sophia coiled her legs launching herself into the air with a powerful leap. He watched with amazement as she rocketed off taking flight into the clear blue skies.
“Go get ‘em, Ms Dennison.” He nodded with approval. “Go get ‘em.”
˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜
She flew through Washington DC, cutting her speed to a slow cruise allowing people to see her. Next, she rocketed off to New York doing the same in Times Square, Los Angeles, Houston, and San Francisco, before heading off to other major cities around the world.
She wanted everyone to know that, despite the loss of many fallen champions, one had risen to take up the mantle as their protector. Regular people raised their heads and felt a bit safer on that day, while superhumans who took up the mantle as heroes looked up and saw something to aspire to.
She picked up speed soaring higher and faster into the skies, remembering those that scarified their lives, those who stood beside her and continued to stand beside her. She lost a lot, but gained a billion fold in the process. Her only regret was that it took so long for her to realize it. She added another promise to pay it forward.
She tore through the Earth’s atmosphere long enough to plummet to the other side of the world.
She did it one time for Charlie.
She imaged him laughing and cheering her on from on high as she finally embraced her destiny willingly.
The world needed a hero… and a hero from that day forward… is what she would be.
Chapter 28
Today would be the worst day Fazilah Abusalih’s life. Today Fazilah turned five years old. Fazilah was born in a small village in Eastern Sudan between the Red Sea and Kassala. She was the youngest child of two sisters and a brother. The night before her actual birthday, her mother gave her the biggest portion of Asseeda (porridge) and sheep that was cooked and slaughtered the night before. On that same night, her older sister stained her hands and feet with henna.
At dawn, her mother woke her up, gave her breakfast, and took her for a walk. The walk took about a half hour. As they neared the hut at the end of the village, her little heart began to beat faster. She remembered less than a year ago playing with her sisters in this area and hearing the screams and cries of a little girl. When she tried to go and see what was the mattered she was shooed away by some of the habobat (grandmothers) of the village. The wails became so loud she had to cover her own ears as she ran away. Haunted by the experience she never returned to play on that side of the village.
She looked up at her mother, who held her hand tighter as they entered the fenced in yard. As they walked around the large hut to the back of the yard, waiting for them were all the habobat of the village. Her tiny body began to tremble. She was the only little girl in the yard.
She looked up again at her mother hoping she would look down at her. She prayed she would look down and see in her big brown eyes that she was terrified and wanted to go home.
As hard as she searched, she could not find her mother’s eyes.
Instead, she would feel her mother’s grip loosen as one of the habobat came to take possession of little Fazilah’s hand leading her into circle of female elders now formed.
In this circle of elders, little Fazilah would be mutilated.
They would force her to lie down on the mat in the center of the yard. Several kinswomen would weigh down her torso. Two others would pull and hold her legs apart. The Miriam or the midwife would then take a sharp knife and quickly slice away her clitoris and labia minora; the rejected tissue caught in a bowl they would later toss away.
No words could possibly describe the excruciating pain and suffering to befall little Fazilah, nor how shattered her heart would be as she screamed out for a mother who would not save her.
To add to her suffering, the Miriam would remove a surgical needle from her midwife’s kit. Threading it with suture, she would sew together the child’s outer labia leaving a small opening at the vulva.
If she was lucky to survive the procedure or the infection that could occur, on the day she consummated her marriage, her would be husband, with the help of a “little knife” would slice her open one more time. This would allow him to penetrate her so that he could impregnate her, if she was capable of having children after the damage done. Even if she was lucky, there was a great chance she would still die during childbirth.
Fazilah’s eyes remained on her mother as the habobat laid her down on the mat.
Her little heart began to beat out of her chest. She squirmed and whimpered as four of the habobat held her down by her small torso. She felt almost suffocated.
The tears began to fall as they pried and held her legs open, the screams and cries followed as the knife came into view.
“Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” Fazilah screamed her lungs out in fright.
She desperately searched through the cloud of elders pinning her down, bawling for a mother who would not save her. Despite her petite size, she put up a fight in an attempt to get free; the Miriam stepped in forcing her down while scolding her.
“Be still child! And let us do what needs to be done,” ordered the Miriam.
Fazilah gurgled and cried as the habobat used additional force to keep her down. They stretched her little legs further apart as if to rip them off.
As the Miriam prepared to administer her first cut, a powerful wind blew sending dust flying, while the ground shook around them.
The force of the wind increased as a shadow casted over the group of women in the yard.
Fazilah would not feel one cut as the knife dropped from the Miriam’s hand, while the many hands of the habobat removed themselves from her tiny body.
She quickly sat up seeing her mother agai
n, now on her knees clutching her mouth in fear. She quickly glanced little Fazilah’s way, then back up at the sky.
Screaming began, this time from the all of the habobat looking in the same direction as Fazilah’s mother and the Miriam.
Fazilah wiped her eyes of tears and stood up looking to the skies at a memory forever etched into her mind of her fifth birthday.
On her birthday, she witnessed a hooded wingless angel in red and black clothing with skin as dark as hers and blue radiant eyes that pierced the day itself. On her shoulders, she wore the symbol of freedom known throughout her homeland.
“Cry for freedom… and I will come.”
Epilogue
Billions of light years away from the Earth’s solar system, something floated amongst the stars answering the question as to whether humans were alone in the universe. It’s bared the shape of a killer whale with the length and width of two aircraft carriers lined up behind each other. Its dark metallic form blended with the harsh black environments of space. Red glowing hieroglyphic like etchings around its nose and hull, along with the blue glow of the dormant thrusters that powered it were the only things that made it viewable amongst the blackness and stars.
Within what appeared to be the main bridge was dark and cold. The same lights that glowed on its outside also illuminated its insides. Sitting at designated stations controlling it was a crew of eight. Their features, for the most part, were similar to humans, possessing two eyes, two arms and two legs, a mouth, nose, a pair of ears, and five fingers and toes on each hand and foot.
The difference between their race and that of Earth became all too obvious after that. Their skins were smooth with a scale like pattern similar to a snake, while their large elfin ears made them appear as if they came out of a fantasy novel. Physically their bodies were muscular, toned, and powerful.
All of the females on the bridge with distinct womanly features similar to that of Earth possessed onyx like skin that came in different shades, along with their lips and tongue. Their finger and toenails were also a mirror shiny black, while their irisless eyes, and shiny white fangs popped from their midnight features.
Their hair along with their male counterparts were the only thing that came in different colors from black, red, bright orange, white, blue, and even purple. They wore their hair in a braided Mohawk style of four to six braids.
The male were the exact opposite of the females. Their skin tone, nails, lips, and tongue went between shades of stark white to dark gray, while their eyes and teeth were a gleaming dark black. They too had various hair colors; however the hair styles appeared to vary with the men. Some wore their hair similar to the women, while others either wore it in a regular Mohawk, or just straight and long.
Both male and female sat dressed in versions of what could be described as ancient single shoulder Roman or Greek togas. The women’s legs and arms were adorned with greaves and bracers similar to gold, silver, or crystal, while the men wore heavy metallic gold or gray bracers with ancient etchings of their race.
Sitting lazily in a throne like captain’s chair with his right leg over the arm rest, the commander of the massive vessel wearing just a red long loin cloth sat with his chin resting on his fist as if he was about to fall asleep. His skin was pearl white, while he wore his long blue mane in a Mohawk with three thick braids. Though he does not appear larger or stronger than most of the males on their bridge, it was clear how he earned his station.
Aside from his golden bracers with etchings that glowed red similar to the ship he commanded, a powerful deep blue glow illuminated from his eyes signifying the immense power that coursed through his veins.
Not to be outdone was the female that stood to the right of his chair. Her skin was pitch black like the universe outside their vessel, while her blood red Mohawk styled hair was done with six braids. She adorned a near sheer pink toga with golden accents. On her arms and legs she wore bracers and greaves with similar etchings to the commander’s bracers also possessing a dim red glow. A piercing red glow shined from her eyes as she wore a face that could slaughter a million legions by itself.
To the left of his chair was a shiny black orb the size of a basketball floating via an unknown propulsion system.
The two spoke small talk in a language older than the first words human man ever uttered.
Their topic of conversation, was the holographic image projected by the orb of a blue, green and white third planet from a lone star.
˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜
In the lower levels of the massive vessel, insane cackling could be heard. With the confines of a cell, behind a clear wall like crystal door. The dead hung against a cold metallic wall, stripped of her clothing. Each of her appendages confined to a humongous metallic cocoon like restraints which hummed while its parts emitted a green glow. With head bowed her blonde dreads masked her face, as she continued to laugh, and laugh, and laugh.
FREEDOM AND THE REGULATORS WILL RETURN…
AND SO WILL THE EYE OF RA…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kipjo K. Ewers was born July 1, 1975. At an early age, he had an active imagination. By the time he started kindergarten he would make up fictitious stories, one of his favorites was about a character named “Old Man Norris,” who hated everyone in the world except for him.
When he attended our Lady of Victory Elementary school in Mount Vernon, he continued writing and reading stories to his classmates. His teacher, Mrs. Green, told me the children would laugh but she would remind them that that is how some of the great stories that they read actually came about.
After elementary school, he went onto Salesian High School in New Rochelle, NY then on to Iona College, also in New Rochelle.
He would go onto to work for several major firms and companies within the New York area, but his passion was to become a journalist/writer. Therefore, it is not surprising he decided to write his first book/novel.
Kipjo began working and creating a new superhuman universe, finding inspiration and solace in the loss of his first daughter due to an unfortunate miscarriage that devastated both his loving wife and himself; he began writing a hero origin story now titled “The First.”
He continues this story as a novel series and as a comic book series in the near future.
Thank you for reading and for your support.
