Only Suffer in Silence

November 16, 2020November 16, 2020 Chris Hall46 Comments

Look at her
a face illuminated by street lamps, by passing cars
she watches, she waits
the expression on her face is one of… nothingness.

Look at her
dark circles under her eyes, a bruise on her cheek
hidden by her hair
the look in her eyes is one of… emptiness.

Look at her
what did he do? what do you do? while she’s
beaten and broken
one woman, one of many, living in… hopelessness.

Society sleepwalks, liberals shake their heads
say wise but empty words, while behind closed doors
this never ends.

A woman is killed every three hours in South Africa, according to police statistics – a rate five times the world average. Half are murdered by men with whom they had a close relationship.

Written in response to Sadje’s What Do You See #56 photo prompt.
Image credit: Phmaxiestevez @ Pixabay
(The image shows a young woman looking out the glass pane of a partially open door, with an indecipherable expression).

The Beautiful Game?

June 22, 2018January 7, 2019 Chris Hall6 Comments

She’s put out the snacks and brought his beer, chilled, in his special glass (one of them). More beers are in the fridge; she has a pie ready to warm for half-time – steak and kidney – his preferred.

Pre-match build up: pundits pontificate; re-runs, highlights, triumphs and near misses. There is success and then there is shame. Which will it be today? National Pride is at stake, for this is the World Cup.

As she sits, small and submissive on the far end of the couch, she plays a different commentary in her head. Missed penalties, own goals, bad decisions by the ref. The repercussions: cuts and bruises (hers); failure on the field reflected in domestic disappointment.

Predictions are favourable. The odds of a positive outcome are weighed in favour. She weighs up her own odds: win or draw 20 per cent, lose 50 per cent (the chances of a beating).

Incidents of domestic violence rise significantly during the World Cup

Not your fault

January 20, 2018January 7, 2019 Chris HallLeave a comment

You look down at her, slumped on the kitchen floor, the basket of other people’s ironing she’s just finished strewn across the polished quarry tiles. Her head lolls awkwardly against the range where she’s fallen. After you lost your rag and pushed her, but you pushed too hard this time.