Zelenka

“Please help me I can not speak or hear and I come from country far away Please help me with any money to spare thank you very much,” the sign says. It sounds too much like a beggar’s lie for most of us to care.

The woman’s name is Zelenka. She was born in a country far away from here. When she was six, she lost her father and her mother. Her father was killed by some people he had borrowed money from; they smashed his head between the doorstep and a brick. Zelenka saw this from the other side of the street, on her way home from buying an apple for some money she had gotten from him earlier. She turned six that day.

The men proceeded into the house and Zelenka followed them, sobbing as she stepped over what remained of her father. She needed to protect her mother because – as a child – she didn’t know any better. The biggest of the men held her mother down by the throat, while another one was ripping off her clothes and keeping her legs still. Zelenka bit the big one in the arm. He hit her so hard the floor fell away beneath her. As her consciousness faded away, she heard her mother’s screams turn to sickening gurgles. After that, everything turned into a blur of pain.

When she came to, the world had changed. All that was left of her mother were her clothes and lumps of hair and blood. Outside, the only traces of her father were dark red smears on the steps and pavement. The air felt different. Zelenka was reduced to a broken hull of sadness, and it would take her sixteen years to regain faith in tomorrow. It wasn’t until she got aboard that ship that would take her to what they called “the free world”, that she would dare to hope for a brighter future.

Zelenka no longer remembers if she lost her voice because that man hit her, or if it was because she decided she would never speak to anyone ever again. Neither does she know if the world lost its sound that day, or if she’s the only one unable to hear it.

In this foreign land, the only way for Zelenka to understand people is through looking at their faces. But she’s never sure of what she sees in them; is it disgust or distrust she reads in their eyes? And those who smile at her, do they mean her well or will the smiles fade once she relies on them too much?

The only thing Zelenka knows for sure is only what her life has taught her; you have only your own hands to save yourself. And sometimes, that just isn’t enough.