Semony Pt. 2

Welcome to Fiction Friday.
My friend, Vonnie, is hosting today at her blog. I'd love for you to stop there and see what she's sharing.

I've continued the story of Semony from two weeks ago and am so grateful, encouraged, and pleased that you (those who've had the chance to read it) are enjoying the story. When working with a group of Hindu women and children, I noticed things that appear to be part of their culture and their faith. I couldn't help but fall in love with the children. I hope you will too.

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Semony, Pt. 2 

She hadn’t closed her eyes five minutes when she heard sounds of pounding feet and children laughing. The place was awake and chattering. Didn’t they know it was night?

Opening her eyes enough to appear closed yet able to see through the slits, she spied on the room. Amelia giggled, chattering with Miss M. The two apparently had become friends. Well, good. Then I don’t have to.

“Semony, we’re going for breakfast if you’d like to join us.”

What? Did she know the secret? How could she, there was no way. Miss M. walked over, sat on the bed, and continued to talk. If she didn’t sound so nice, it would be easier to resist. Semony pulled back, looking about, hopeful she concealed herself.

Her stomach rumbled, flopped, grabbed her lungs and gurgled. Whether she came out now or later, her stomach was determined to give her secret away. Reason had no more room where hunger was concerned. Her stomach saw to that. Resistance was no more an option. If she didn’t move now, she would be forced to remain until death came for her, and then they would still find her. How could she win under such circumstances?

One arm in front of the other, she crept from beneath the bed. She rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.

“There you are. I was beginning to wonder whether we’d lost you.” Miss M.’s smile made Semony’s heart ache for her mother’s hug. She fought back the burning tears that came with weak people.

“Come dear. You can eat with us.” She reached her hand toward Semony.   Like a magnet drawn to its attraction, her hand reached for Miss M.

Don’t do it. That’s how she’ll get you. Her arm jerked, as though saving herself from certain doom, she grabbed her hand with the other. She would have to be more careful in the future. This woman’s got a force about her that would entice black to become white.

The walk to the dining room was short, but seemed to take an eternity. The eyes of every child directed their attention to her, or was it slimy-green-goo-nose-girl? It didn’t matter. Semony still felt the heat of their stares. She hated it. It was much safer beneath the bunk, snuggled next to the suitcases.

Miss M. led them through the line and helped slimy-green-goo-nose fill her tray. The food’s aroma tickled Semony’s nose, drawing her to the savory meal. Spoons and forks flashed in the light next to napkins and a tray of glasses ready for juice or milk. Miss M. said she could have both if she wanted. Nothing is rationed? Before she could think about how this food was not only bad, but not vegan, she found meats and eggs and biscuits had somehow gotten up out of their place and landed on her tray. The war in her belly grew in anticipation of the eventual incoming foods. She admitted her hunger and her weakness, in silence, begging the gods to be forgiving.

Trays filled, juice, milk, and yogurt waited at the end of the line. Miss. M smiled helped fill their glasses, set one of each on her tray, and on slimy-green-goo-nose-girl’s also. What kind of people were these that they would be so generous? Rations in her village wouldn’t allow such abundance. It was considered greedy and self-gratifying.

 “Come girls, I see a table.” Miss M weaved through the tables like a needle in cloth and pulled the girls along like well waxed thread. As busy as the room had become, no one bumped or jostled the girls’ trays. Soon, they were seated at a round table with other girls and grownups assigned to be room guardians.

Hunger prevailed. Semony grabbed her fork and stabbed the meat and poised it to meet her tongue and teeth.

“Hold on, Semony.” Miss M placed a hand on Semony’s wrist. “First we thank the Lord for our provision.”

Thank the Lord? For provision? I don’t think so. Everyone at the table took the hand of their neighbor, bowed their head, eyes closed, and waited.  Semony’s hand, trapped in Miss M.’s hand and the woman next to her—she didn’t catch her name—sweat under the devastating development taking place. These people seriously talked to their god … as if He listened. He’s deaf. He’s hateful. He murdered my parents. Well, they can hold my hand, but they can’t make me pray. She searched the room for others who felt the same. Few others looked about as well.

Did they know what she knew?

To catch up with Semony Pt. 1

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Thanks for stopping. Be sure to leave a comment then click on over to Vonnie's site to read hers and to see what others are writing this week.

Have a blessed week.