World Issues - 9th grade Plurilingual Creative Writing Anthology

“COVID-19”

by Sarah Gabrys

It’s December 31st and I’m helping my grandparents with the Huanan Seafood Wholesale
Market. Several people are coughing and my parents call me over. “Here look at this,” she says
while handing me her phone. It’s a reporter stating that the health authorities are treating
dozens of cases. Apparently, China alerted WHO to several cases of unusual pneumonia in
Wuhan, a port city of 11 million people in the central Hubei province. The virus is said to be
unknown. “Do you think they will close public gatherings and the market to stop the virus from
spreading?” she asks me with a worried expression. “No” she replies, continuing to peel the
potatoes without a worry.

“Wake up! Wake up you lazy child!” she hits me with a stick. “Ow! Ow! Okay I’m up! Jeez,
what’s up with the commotion?” I ask her. “They closed the market! They closed the market!”
She repeats. “As health experts worked to identify the virus amid growing alarm, the number of
infections exceeded 40.” I read the news on my phone, still shocked.

In the months that followed, my strength and mental health spiraled. I was growing weaker as
the days went on because I was working my body too much. A high school student shouldn’t be
going through this type of situation. I was growing restless because I was pulling all nighters to
finish my work. During the day I was helping my grandma distribute masks and other
necessities because some people in my area didn’t have the resources to access these certain
products. I could see that my grandma is also tiring herself out. She’s becoming really old and
people her age targeted during the virus epidemic. As quickly the epidemic spread, a quarantine
was put in place.

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Poverty

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“Mon choix, déjà décidé”

by Adriana Hernandez

Je savais ce qui allait se passer
Les valeurs avaient diminués
Qui me forcaient a perdre
Ce qui me rendaient heureux
Para poder cuidar de mi familia
Lo tenía que hacer,

Même si cela me causait énormément de peine
Voir mes collègues se disperser
Voulant être dans un cauchemar
Je n’avais plus d’argent

Pour mes ressources ni pour leurs
Ils partaient sans espoir
Sans pouvoir voir
Un avenir pour eux
Yo, queriendo ayudar
Je voulais choisir
Mais je ne pouvais pas.

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“Sanctions, Poverty and Children”

by Hanna Partovi

The children are lining up. The line twists around a few times like a snake. Kids are
standing tightly behind each other. In the charity kitchen, volunteer cooks are packing single
portion meals – some rice, a grilled tomato and minced beef. Mohammad finally reaches the
front of the line. He grabs his box and finds a table with an empty spot. He looks frail but not
unhappy. Once he takes his seat, he begins to eat. He lifts his spoon to reach his mouth with a
motion that appears strained and much slower than one would expect.

Doctors think Mohammad has a rare genetic disease. He can lift a spoon but is too
weak to carry his school backpack. It was last week that they had been to the hospital again.
His mother had been begging mercy for his son. The neurosurgeon had asked for nearly a
thousand dollars for Mohammad’s genetic test that his parents can’t afford. The price of the test
has tripled since the latest US sanctions went into effect. His mother’s voice still echoes in
Mohammad’s ears, saying to the doctor, “How am I going to find the money for his test?” “I
don’t know.”, said the neurosurgeon, “I am in as much hardship as you are…”

The neurosurgeon had struggles of his own. He had told Mohammad’s mother about his
elderly grandmother who is suffering from Leukemia. Since the re-imposition of the US
sanctions in 2018, the neurosurgeon’s family had been unable to secure enough supplies for his
grandmother’s chemotherapy drugs. “Sanctions are devastating our people, not the
government.”, he lamented, “How is withholding chemotherapy from my 80-year old
grandmother helpful to anyone’s objectives?”

Mohammad finishes his lunch and he carries his dirty dishes to the washing area. Little
girls around eight or nine years old, with their heads covered in white scarves, are washing the
dishes at the sink. Mohammad helps with cleaning some tables before his mother takes him
back to school.

All afternoon he is longing for a stroll in the park that his father has promised him for
days but he knows that it is probably not possible again today. His father works fifteen hours a
day at a mechanic’s shop. His wages were cut in half last month, and he can no longer afford to
take any time off. A third of his colleagues have lost their jobs in the past few months.
Mohmmad’s father feels lucky he has been able to keep his job. He blames the man with yellow
hair, on the front of the newspaper, for their troubles.

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“Enfant d’ici et de là-bas”

by Antoine Louvet

Je suis enfant de San Francisco
Je suis au collège
Je suis enfant de Dacca
Je travaille dix-sept heures par jour

Je suis enfant de San Francisco
J’ai toute ma vie devant moi
Je suis enfant de Dacca
Je risque de mourir tous les jours

Je suis enfant de San Francisco
Je serai ingénieur ou cadre ou professeur
Je suis enfant de Dacca
Je travaillerai dans une usine toute ma vie

Je suis enfant de San Francisco
J’ai deux frères et sœurs
Je suis enfant de Dacca
J’ai six frères et sœurs

Je suis enfant de San Francisco
Je vis dans une maison à trois étages
Je suis enfant de Dacca
Je vis dans une usine

Pourquoi, est-ce comme ça?

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“Homelessness”

by Kimberly Sobrevilla

Some time ago I knew a woman. This woman had grown up in a normal home with an
average income, middle class family. Her relationship with her family was complicated, so she
decided to move away to the college dormitories as soon as possible. She got a loan for her
university tuition fees, and spent 4 years getting a bachelor's degree in business. While
spending all of those years studying, she obtained a part-time job in order to slowly pay off her
debt.

After graduation she moved back to her childhood home and quit her part -time job in
order to be hired as a manager of a popular restaurant. Unfortunately the woman was rejected
not only when applying for that job, but time after time the same thing occurred. She slowly
started getting discouraged by the constant rejection and her relationship with her family
became unhealthier. She began quarreling with them and was kicked out at a time in her life
when she was low on funds and couldn’t afford to pay rent. She started to rely on friends but
when they started to fail to support her through her troubles, she resorted to homeless shelters
and food banks. The woman didn’t understand how she had gotten in such an awful situation.
After all, she had gotten a degree in something useful--how could this have happened?

When she was at the shelters, she met people from different backgrounds, some who
shared similarities to her and some who didn’t. While she was there, she pondered over the fact
that people from all backgrounds could end up in these terrible conditions and that this needed
to be solved.She eventually got hired as manager of a local shop and made up with her family,
but she hasn’t forgotten that chapter in her life.

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“Enfant de la Pauvreté”

by Hanna Partovi

Le garçon, qui a l'air d'avoir à peine sept ans
Court vers la voiture arrêtée au feu
Son visage a l'air sombre - ce n'est pas la couleur de sa peau
C'est de la saleté
Ses cheveux et ses vêtements sont ébouriffés
Il a un sac jeté sur l'épaule
Ne devrait-il pas être à l'école à cette heure de la journée ?

Le garçon se lève sur la pointe des pieds
Pour atteindre l'ouverture de la fenêtre du conducteur
Le conducteur tend la main par la fenêtre et remet une facture au garçon
Je ne reconnais pas l'argent iranien ni sa valeur
Le garçon prend l'addition, jette un coup d'œil et se retourne
Un adulte s'approche et le ramène sur le trottoir
C'est son père ?
Est-ce qu'il le fait mendier de l'argent ?

Mes yeux voient la scène
Mais mon cerveau ne comprend pas
Est-ce une scène exagérée comme dans les films ?
Non !
Je me rappelle qu'il s'agit d'un extrait d'un documentaire
Je démissionne pour accepter le fait qu'elle est bien réelle.

C'est la réalité d'aujourd'hui du pays bien-aimé de ma famille
Un pays bien-aimé avec un héritage millénaire
Un héritage glorieux
Entièrement masqué par les dures circonstances actuels
Une réalité qui devient de plus en plus dévastatrice
Tant que les grandes puissances du monde continuent leurs jeux cruels
A moins qu'une voix comme la mienne ne se joigne à d'autres voix
Comme la mienne - pour mettre fin à cette brutalité.

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“Deseando una sola mirada”

by Sophie Faustinelli

The wind blew harder and harder
The cold air weighted on my heavy back
My eyes weakened, imprisoning themselves in my body
And the darkness of the night
Trapped me in the dreadful life I was living in

The burning feeling of the sunlight touching my skin
Greeted me with a pleasant welcome
Even though my constant despair
Haunted me
Through the long, restless days

Los miraba, y pasaban.
Como si nada.

I was only a miserable silhouette
Sitting on the hard dirty floor
Wishing for one miracle
And one miracle only
To have a solid roof over my vulnerable and uneasy head

Los miraba, y pasaban.
Como si nada.

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“Where I belonged”

by Adriana Hernandez

A memory never leaves someone's head mostly if it lasted months. I was still young
when this happened to me and got trapped into one of society’s biggest problems today. I was
homeless for eight months. I had lost my job and could no longer pay my rent because my
landlord kept increasing it, so I sheltered on the street. All I had was my dog but that was all I
needed at the time. I lived at the entrance of a building apartment where many middle class
people lived. There was one man in particular, who stood out to me in the beginning, and who
has left a mark on me since. His name was Josh, he was 34 years old and lived in the third
story. He worked for a business and left everyday very early and came back late in the
afternoon. Many times, he offered me food, money and supplies which truly helped me. I was
extremely grateful for him, not many people passed by this part of the city because of the
number of homeless. My days were all the same and they soon came to follow each other
where I didn’t know what day it was or even if the day had passed. After more cloudy days, Josh
came back from work with his enthusiastic smile. He told me he had found a way for me to
continue my life and get it how it was before. I was doubtful because there was no way I could
ever support myself like I did in the past without enormous help. He hands me a piece of paper.
I didn’t even know if I could still read. Thankfully, he explained it and it was a flyer for a shelter
for those in need. I immediately needed to know if I would be seperated from my dog, the only
reason I hadn’t lost hope. Josh couldn’t answer all my questions, but promised me that he would
help and bring me there. The next morning, he kept his word and brought me to the shelter. I
was shocked at the amount of people there were. I was admitted and they told me that I could
keep the dog but she would be everyone’s until I was stable enough to leave. I decided to stay. I
made the right choice. It’s been 2 years since I left and now I live in the same apartment
complex with Josh. He even found me a job at his work, I work as an assistant. Thank you to
the person who hung the flyer.

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“Opinions”

by Eva Krylov

The Privileged and The Underprivileged
Let us see the parallel realities in society:
The wealthy lay in bed with their heat on high
In their fancy houses in the hills
With no remorse for those who can barely pay the bills
Those who shiver outside in flimsy tents
Wondering where to find their next meal
While the rich have fridges full of food
Yet still complain about their mood
One teen is worried about which outfit to wear
While another is worried about how to survive out in this cold air
Neither have understanding or empathy for the other
The rich man sees the poor man as lazy and to blame
The poor man sees the rich man as privileged and vain
There is no comparison, no way to see eye-to-eye
Like living on two different planets
How is it possible they exist on the same?
Imagine if the two traded places, even for one day
Maybe everything would change if they could see life the same way
If only they could walk for a few hours in the other’s shoes
Then maybe they would no longer be the ones they accuse
Society has created a deep divide
And put aside those who applied
We must swallow our pride because no one can hide
This indifference can no longer be justified
To create a better world, the two extremes must decide
To finally come together
And stop this divide

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Animal Abuse & Cruelty

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“La maltraitance des animaux”

by Nicole Johnson

Douleur et souffrance
Quelle chose horrible, injuste et méchante

Quel triste sentiment
Quelle cruelle émotion
Quelle terrible sensation
N'avez vous pas de compassion ?
Comment avez-vous pu me faire cela
Je ne suis qu'un lapin
N'est-ce pas mon destin ?
D'être sans angoisse,
Heureux et libre de tout souci

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“Bonjour, je m’appelle…”

by Aidann Gruwell

Bonjour, je m’appelle... En fait, je n’ai pas reçu de prénom, uniquement le numéro ‘3473’
qui est écrit sur une étiquette attachée à mon oreille. Je suis dans un camion; je suis à côté du
corps d’une amie nommée ‘3562’ qui est morte d’une maladie il y a quelques jours. Nous
sommes une douzaine coincés dans ce petit espace sans chauffage, sans eau, sans plomberie,
et sans vraie nourriture; les hommes nous nourrissent avec un liquide chimique rempli de je ne
sais quoi et de maïs. Je sens les excréments des autres dispersés dans le fond du véhicule.
Nous avons froid et on peut à peine bouger mais miraculeusement, j’arrive à voir un peu du
monde de dehors en regardant à travers des petits fissures. Je peux voir les plaines vertes avec
des arbres et des cultures. Parfois on passe des villages où on peut sentir la nourriture fraîche
qui nous fait saliver. Je vois aussi des autres comme nous qui ont la liberté de marcher dans les
plaines et voir le ciel, mais je sais qu’on leur réserve le même sort qu’à nous. Pourquoi vis-je
comme ça?

J’étais née heureuse avec ma mère qui m’aimait plus que tout dans sa vie. Je m’en
souviens ses yeux brillants et son lait si doux. Tout m’a été arraché quatre heures après ma
naissance quand un homme est venu me prendre. Ma mère hurlait mais il ne l’écoutait pas. J’ai
donc été mis dans une cage où je buvais un liquide chimique pour remplacer le lait de ma mère.
Après une éternité, ils m’ont mis dans un endroit nommé le ‘rack de viol’ où j’étais inséminée de
force. Après neufs longs mois, j’ai donné naissance à un garçon. Tout la souffrance semblait
justifiée à ce moment là. Je me mettais contre lui pour le garder chaud dans la nuit. Quand nous
nous sommes réveillés, un homme a pris mon cher enfant. Je hurlais mais cette fois, personne
ne m’écoutait. Il m’ont donc branchée à une machine qui volait le lait de ma poitrine qui
devenait s’infectait gravement. Ce processus douloureux se répéta pendant plusieurs années
jusqu’à ce que je n’aie plus de lait à donner.

Maintenant, je me trouve ici et j’ai peur. Je sais que quand les gens sont pris dans cet
enfer, ils ne reviennent jamais. En ce moment, j’aurais besoin d’une grâce dans le couloir de la
mort, même si je n’ai jamais commis de péché. Il y a des millions d’animaux dans cette situation
qui n’ont jamais été traités avec justice. Donc je vous en prie, arrêtez d’acheter des produits de
l’agriculture industrielle.

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“Animal Abuse”

by Nicole Johnson

Subject 5092784, (Test 39895420):
Subject: White Male Rabbit
Age: 2 years old

I open my eyes to a small cramped cage, filled with my own feces, and the smell makes
me choke, but there’s no escaping it. My eyes wander around at at my cold, grim enclosure, and
I wonder, who’s next??? My whole body aches from lack of movement. My ears ring from the
loud repetitive noises around me caused by the other rabbits shuffling in their hutches. My ears
prick up as I hear a door open, and footsteps enter the room. An unfamiliar noise, different from
all the others. Everywhere around me I can feel panic rise as a man enters. My eyes dart left
towards a rabbit who has frozen in fear, then right, at a rabbit who is banishing itself against its
metal wirings, hurting itself in the process. I look up; terror, sheer terror fills the room, like a
heavy gas. I jump, leap. I must get away, but there is nowhere to go. My body slams against my
cage. All I can think is trap. My head bashes against the wires, blood oozes, then trickles down
to my eye. My head is blazing with pain, and I pass out.

I awaken, the smell of blood fills my nostrils. My bowl is full of new food. The same gross
pellets I have been eating for days. I don’t touch the bowl. My head throbs. And then I notice the
man is gone. A brief moment of relief floods over me, before anxiety arrives once more. The
rabbit that was to my left is gone... What happens to them? I don't want to know… But I know
it’s my fate, eventually. This feeling of dread fills me, how much longer? The suspense is
unbearable; a strange feeling overwhelms me and I can't do anything to get rid of it. I huddle up
into a corner, close my eyes and don’t move, hoping that sleep overtakes me soon, to take me
away to a better world.

I wake up again. The same old grim, boring bars facing me, I close my eyes once more
then open them, staring at another rabbit staring right back. His gaze is boring into me, sadness
and despair deep in his eyes. Suddenly his eyes jerk away from mine; for the next few hours or
however much time passes, I just stare at him. His fur is gone, leaving a bald spot of skin almost
traveling across his entire body. Some of his flesh seems to have nearly decayed, leaving
strange spots of red all over. Hues of purple and yellow and brown stain his body, some blood
oozes out. A puss-like substance leaks from the red spots when the man brutally picks him up,
making the rabbit shriek from pain. As the man struggles to keep him in his arms, he is taken

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away. Foam and yellow saliva drool out of the yawning abyss of the rabbit’s mouth, his eyes
bloodshot red and wide open. His feet are kicking frantically, trying to escape. Finally, his claws
make contact with the man’s face, making him drop the rabbit, who dashes off. The man runs
for the door that he entered as the mad rabbit starts running around in circles. An hour goes by
and he hasn’t stopped. Another hour, and finally he drops from exhaustion. Now he is just laying
there, his breathing slows, and with a final, painful gasp, he stops moving. Hours later and two
men in strange suits came into the room. They picked up his lifeless corpse and disposed of it.
How much longer do I have to be here ???

I am awakened by the touch of something. I am still in my cage, but I’m not in the same
area I was anymore. I can’t move… a strange liquid is in my eyes. I close them tightly. It
burns…

A week has passed. I have lost my ability to see; I'm blind now. The liquid did something
to them, it hurt a lot. I think it got infected. I don’t know how much longer I can last.

Now I'm just laying here. I feel like that rabbit that used to be in front of my cage.
Everything is getting fuzzy. My senses are getting more and more dulled… Breathing is
becoming laborious. This is ok though, as it’s all coming to an end, a blissful, calm, slow end.
Subject 5092785, (Test 39895421): Concluded
Cause of death: Infection From Liquid #1666

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Sexual Abuse

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“A Trip to Regret”

by Elizabeth Golster

“Hello everyone! Welcome back to my podcast where I bring people with inspiring life

stories so they can share them with the world. Today I am joined by Aurora Florence from
Madrid, Spain to tell us about her horrid experience getting trafficked. As I know this is a
sensitive subject for you, Aurora, feel free to share only what you feel comfortable with
sharing.”

- “Perfect. I just want to start off by saying thank you so much for having me today. I
think it’s very important for me to share my story today to raise awareness of things like
this.”
- “ Of course, I completely agree with you. So if you don't mind, how about we just get
right into a couple of discussion questions.”
- “Sure.”
- “ So let's go back to before it all happened. What situation were you in before you went
through this?”
- “ Well it all started with a trip that my best friend Elena and I had been planning to for
the longest time, to Thailand. Initially my parents didn’t approve of me going on the trip,
which is why it tooks months of convincing for them to let me go.”
- “So would you say that your parents were worried about you going?”
- “Definitely, my parents reminded me to call them as soon as I landed in Thailand and
then regularly after that.”
- “ So walk us through what happened once you landed.”
- “ So once we had arrived, we waited outside for a taxi to take us to our friends house
about 30 minutes away.”
- “So you say you were going to your friend's house, does your friend own a house in
that area of the country?”
- “Exactly, so prior to choosing where we were going to stay, my friend Mateo, who is
originally from Thailand, offered to let us stay at his house while we were staying there.”
- “So that's where you guys were heading?”
- “Yes, so my friend and I were waiting for a taxi. Then a taxi pulled up next to us and
right as we were going to enter it, this guy asked us what area of town we were heading

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to. We asked why he was asking, and he said it was because the prices for taxis were
high and he wanted to know if we wanted to share one with him.”
- “I suppose you said yes?”
- “We actually said no. Our parents were always very strict and we were always raised to
never talk to strangers, never go in the same car as one… you know what I’m talking
about. So we said ‘no’ and got into the taxi on our own. Little did we know he had taken
his own car and had followed us to Mateo’s house.”
- “Is your friend's house in a busy area?”
- “My friend lives in what you would call the downtown of the city, so we would have
never noticed the guy was following us due to all the cars driving in the area.”
- “So walk me through what happened when you guys got there.”
- “We were so excited. It was our first trip without our parents, so we were ready to have
the time of our lives. At that very moment everything went wrong. Two strong men
walked into the house and grabbed us both. We yelled and we yelled. They then took us
into their car...blindfolded.”
- “I can't imagine what that must have felt like.”
- “It was definitely scary to say the least. So still blindfolded, they then took us out of the
car and brought us into this huge building. When they finally unblindfolded us, we were
in a huge elevator with other women our age and men firmly grabbing them around the
wrist. We were led into a huge room, wherewe were then undressed and covered with
some sort of a robe. Around 30 min later, each woman was pushed into a room one at a
time, some would come back out of it and others wouldn't. I was confused as to what
was going on but when it was my turn to walk in, the two men that had led me there told
me that if I didn't get picked they would hurt me. At first I didn't understand what they
meant by “get picked” but I soon understood. They pushed me into a room full of men
sitting in suits. I quickly understood they were all biding to pick me. The numbers went
from $500 to $800 to $2000 until $30 000 which was the final bid.”
- “So when you understood that the man with the highest price was the one to buy you
what was going through your mind?”
- “I was terrified. I didn't know where I was going to go with this man or what he was
going to do with me once he got a hold of me. We were then told that all the women
have to go off with the man that had bought them. About 15 other women were bought
by this man which had meant he was very wealthy. He led us all to his car with many
rows in it to seat us all. The area in which we were was very busy, it was in the middle of

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the city. The man had told us to stay in the car while he ‘took care of business.’ What he
hadn't realised is that he left the car unlocked.”
- “ When you realized the door was unlocked what was your initial thought.”
- “Well it was to escape of course. I unlocked the door in the most discreet way and
walked, followed by the rest of the girls, to the nearest store. We then asked to use an
employee’s phone to call the authorities. The authorities then came and we were taken
to a hotel to stay the night. The next morning we were all able to go home. If I’m being
honest, I’ve never felt such a strong sense of relief.”
- “I can’t imagine what that felt like. Well, our time is running out! Thank you so much for
coming today, Aurora. It was amazing to hear your experience!”
- “Thank you for having me.”
“Bye everyone! See you next time with a new guest and a new story! Take care.”

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“Abandonne”

by Alexandra Hechimi

Il est assis en face de moi,
Même voix, mêmes gestes, mêmes traits,
Un acte pour le public,
Mais il ne peut pas me duper.

--

Je vous pensais différent,
Je n’entends que des paroles anciennes,
Vous me demandez pourquoi je vous évite ?
Après ce que vous m'ayez fait, sans arrêt ?
Regardez-moi, je vous méprise.

Jamais vous n'avez eu l'air troublé,
Et je l'ai dit et répété à nombreuses reprises,
On se berce en avant, en arrière, on marmonne,
Vous me regardez juste avec colère, vindicatif,
Comme si c'était tout de ma faute.

Vous avez peint un tableau inédit,
C'est fou, n'est-ce pas ?
Allez-y, menez les masses,
Laissez-les, non, forcez-les me démolir,
M'éteindre à votre place.

Je me demande comment vous le justifiez,
Comment vous parvenez à dormir chaque nuit,
N'est-ce pas mon esprit qui vous tient éveillé ?
Juste un autre petit pion,
Je joue votre jeu sans questions.

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Je ne crois pas que vous compreniez que je suis humaine,
Je peux ressentir, je suis comme vous,
Vous devez être sans cœur,
Vous avez abandonné le savoir, encore et encore,
Je ne suis pas la seule.

Je ne crois pas que vous le sachiez,
Les dégâts que vous avez causés,
Vous avez laissé des plaies sur mon âme,
Brisé mon cœur, coupé mes veines,
J'ai dû vivre avec.

Je suppose que je vous comprends,
Je vous l'ai demandé, non ?
Mon premier refus n'était qu'une blague,
C'était de ma faute, n'est-ce pas ?
Je vous comprends, je le promets.

Mettre des mots dans ma bouche,
Savez vous que cela ne les rend pas vrais ?
Ce n'est pas parce que je n'ai pas crié,
N'ai pas battu, n'ai pas frappé,
Que je vous l'ai vraiment demandée.

J'ai dit non, je le jure,
Je n'ai jamais voulu de vos pattes,
Elles ne créent rien de bon, rien de pure,
Le souvenir, je l'arrache de mon esprit,
Mes pieds enfoncés, ils me font couler.

J'y songe, jour et nuit,
Est-elle injustifiée, cette haine ?
Est-ce de ma faute ?
Elles se précipitent dans mon cerveau, elles transpercent mes remparts,

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Aux pensées indésirables, une sollicitation.

Ce souvenir, il me tourmente l'esprit,
Nuit et jour, sans cesse en boucle,
Quelle obscurité ai-je découverte à présent ?
Vous avez fait émerger le pire,
Vous m'avez privé du meilleur.

J'ai isolée les émotions,
J'ai enfin appris,
Violée à plusieurs reprises par votre présence,
Une myriade de permanences,
Cela ne s'effacera jamais.

S'attendent-ils à ce que je m'assoie et sourie ?
Est-ce le prix à payer pour ma faiblesse ?
"La douleur ne dure qu'un certain temps",
C'est vrai, vous ne faites que le répéter,
À qui dois-je m'adresser lorsqu'on ne me comprend plus ?

J'aurais aimée que tu me laisses tranquille,
J'aurais aimée ne pas tant espérer,
J'aurais aimée pouvoir encore réfléchir,
J'aurais aimée ne pas être si paralysée.

J'aurais aimée que vous partiez,
J'aurais aimée ne jamais vous avoir rencontré,
J'aurais aimée ne pas être née,
J'aurais aimée n'avoir jamais existé.

J'aurais aimée que tu choisisses quelqu'un d'autre,
J'aurais aimée être plus forte que je le suis,
J'aurais aimée réellement me défendre,
J'aurais aimée que cela ne soit pas entièrement de ma faute.

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Je voudrais l'oublier,
Je voudrais juste que cela disparaisse,
Je voudrais juste que tu partes,
Je voudrais disparaître.
--
Il n'y a rien de spécial, il n'y a rien de nouveau,
Encore une victime désespérée, encore une lutte infructueuse,
Les moments de soulagement demeurent peu nombreux,
Abandonner semble être la seule option.
Abandonne abandonne abandonne abandonne abandonne.
Je ne peux pas.
ABANDONNE ABANDONNE ABANDONNE ABANDONNE ABANDONNE.
Je ne veux pas.
Qui te croira ?
J'abandonne.

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“Human trafficking”

by Keira Kooy

I bet your parents have always told you when you were à child, to stay away from
strangers, don't run off with the man who says he has candy or dogs in their car. Then, you got
à little older and they explained to you about how those people will take you, do terrible things to
you and you might never see your parents again. When you became of age to finally
understand the meaning behind human trafficking, the ways u can be used, you probably
thought to yourself now that im aware of of this, i’ll be smart and strong to not get kidnap, but
that's where you're wrong, at least that’s where I was wrong. The average age for girl victims of
human trafficking is 13-14, and for men, the average age is 27. Approximately 18,000 to 20,000
people are trafficked in the United States and 20 million worldwide each year. Now let me tell
you my story.

I was à young 16 year old girl when it all started. I had à rough past with my family. In
our house, I was the one doing all the cleaning, laundry, and cooking. I didnt have an education
but i was aware about human trafficking. I was tired of this life and would trade anything for it, at
least that's what i thought. One day I met this guy at à train station. He told me about his
abusive parents and how he too had to keep up the house when he was younger until he moved
out and made à successful living. I related to him so much, and for that I was naive. My
vulnerable and desperate self bought the story. So we exchanged numbers and à week later he
asked me to meet up with him. I agreed of course, which led to me running away with him that
same night. He took advantage of how naive I was, to make me go with him. We drove for an
hour to à place I did not recognize then stopped at this deteriorated house. For the first week of
my stay, he treated me like royalty, but I couldn't help but notice the men and women constantly
coming and going. When i asked him about it he told me the full truth, then ended it with, now
that you know, it's time to get to work. I was now his slave. He no longer treated me with respect
but like an object. I was raped by him as well as became his housekeeper. But from there it got
worse. I was then raped multiple times à day, all with different men. At night I slept in à small
room filled with other girls of all ages. They all had similar stories of how they ended up here.
Had à terrible childhood, charmed by these men, ran off with them, then ended up here. After à
few weeks of my stay, one night, the kidnapper took me to à club to sell my body. It then
became à routine. Months went by but I decided to never lose hope and promised myself that
one day i'll be free. Then one night à policeman entered the club and started checking ids. So,

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instead of running like all the other prostitutes I stayed put and let the policeman arrest me for
having à fake id. I filed reports against the guy that trafficked me and then was put in jail for
about à year. When I got out, I had absolutely nothing. I couldn't go back to my family because I
would never return to the life I had before. I guess what happened next was being in the right
place at the right time. While i was à the homeless shelter one night, one of the volunteers was
à writer. I told her about my story and she was greatly interested of my life. With my permission
she wrote à book about it and then gave me 50% of her income that she made off of that book.
The money was just enough for me to start à career on raising awareness on Human trafficking.
And now back to the present day. I am now living comfortably, sharing my story with millions to
raise awareness about the subject and prevent what happened to me in their lives.

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“Viol”

by Chloe Lauzeral

Quelque part dans le monde, une femme se fait violer en ce moment
Va-t-elle faire quelque chose? Probablement pas
Parce que depuis son plus jeune âge, on lui a appris à ne pas répondre
Elle pourrait même croire que c'est de sa faute
Parce qu'elle portait des vêtements «trop sexuels»
Elle n'en parlera à personne non plus
Parce qu'elle sera considérée comme une menteuse
But no matter what she does
She will always feel guilty about not having said anything
Imagining all of the other young girls this man could rape
But they won’t say anything either
And the cycle continues

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“Sexual Assault”

by Eden Patron

Everyone was absolutely thrilled. The big deal our company had closed was definitely
something to celebrate. About fifteen of us went out later that night to the local bar to do just that. As
the night went on, I noticed that I was starting to catch Jimmy’s attention. We always flirted playfully,
but neither of us really had that strong of an interest in each other… at least I didn’t think so, but he
was getting more and more attractive throughout the outing. He slowly came over to me and we
started to dance. We were just fooling around when he asked me if I wanted to go back to his place
which was only a couple blocks away. I told him I would go, however I wasn’t totally thinking straight
seeing as I was under the influence.

We stumbled out the door, and as Jimmy began to search for his keys I reminded him that
neither of us were even close to sober, so we should probably just walk. He strongly agreed as he
started mumbling about what a stupid idea that would have been. I laughed - we were both having a
good time just goofing off. We arrived at Jimmy’s place after around ten minutes of trip-walking and
laughing at how dumb we probably looked. Jimmy lived in a little townhouse that I had only been to
once before for a party which I attended. He got out his keys and started to fumble around looking
for the right little brass one that would open the door. Finally, he found it and walked right into the
kitchen, as that was where the front door led to. Jimmy offered me a drink and I accepted the offer. I
was already pretty drunk, what was the harm in one more drink? Jimmy and I started talking about
work and gossipping about something someone did.

Suddenly, he came to a pause in the middle of his sentence and looked me up and down
slowly. He proceeded to stare at me intensely whilst stepping closer and closer to me until the tip of
his nose was about an inch away from mine. He was breathing steadily, carefully moving his hand
up to my face. I could tell what was about to happen and I decided to speed up the process and just
kiss him already. That I did. He was kissing me deeply as he began to undress himself and me very
quickly. Before I knew it, we were in the bedroom and I couldn’t entirely grasp what was happening.
My head was spinning. As I finally realized what was happening before me - to me - I told him to
stop. He wasn’t listening, or maybe he didn’t hear me… I’m not sure. I began to squirm and he held
me still, not letting me move. I started to yell at him, but he refused to stop. Finally, I decided to just
let it happen. I froze and just cleared my head to try and black out what was happening.

After what felt like an hour, Jimmy rolled over off of me and fell asleep. I started to cry, but
stopped immediately because I did not want to wake him. I collected my clothes, got dressed and left
the house. Tears were creeping slowly down my face as I called a taxi. I went home and fell asleep.
The next morning, I called in sick to work.

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“Merci Vanessa”

by Dayne Kovatchev

Je m'appelle Jared Raymond et je vais vous raconter l'histoire de ma vie de 2015 à
2017. Tout commença dans la maison de mes parents à San Francisco. Un soir, en surfant sur
mon Instagram et Twitter, je vis une annonce pour un canapé sur Craigslist qui me sembla très
appropriée pour le nouvel appartement dans lequel j'allais bientôt emménager. Curieusement,
je cliquai sur l'annonce. Je fus très agréablement surpris de voir le canapé exact que je
recherchais depuis quelques jours pour la moitié du prix. Je n'en croyais pas mes yeux. Je me
mis en route quelques jours plus tard pour aller chercher le canapé à Sacramento. J'étais
inquiet par l'endroit où j'allais car les quartiers autour de moi étaient assez sommaires et
malmenés. Mais je me rassurai en me disant que c'était le pire qui pouvait arriver. Il s’avéra
que bien pire allait se produire.

Une fois arrivé, je fus accueilli par une femme que je ne connaîtrais que trop bien par la
suite. Elle s'appelait Vanessa Noma. C'était une femme italienne, merveilleuse et jolie. Nous
eûmes une petite conversation agréable pendant une demi-heure, jusqu'à ce qu'il soit enfin
temps de charger le canapé à l'arrière de ma Volvo.

Soudain, trois hommes masqués nous attaquèrent et nous assommèrent. Une fois
réveillé, je fus complètement terrifié par mon environnement. Vanessa et moi étions dans un
immense entrepôt, attachés aux poignets et aux chevilles. Je criai sur nos ravisseurs, leur
disant que le gouvernement les trouverait et les tuerait avant de pouvoir faire quoi que ce soit
de nous. Quand les trois hommes revinrent , l'un d'eux leva son arme à feu sur nous et nous
dit que si nous bougions ne serait-ce qu'un peu, ils nous tueraient.
Le trio nous a mis dans l'arrière de leur voiture et ont pointés leur pistolets à nos visages
pendant presque la totalité du trajet en sorte de nous garder silencieux. Je pensais qu’ils
allaient nous tuer ou nous vendre pour une rançon. Mais après ce qu’il semble être une éternité,
probablement douze heures, nous nous arrêtâmes devant une ferme dans ce qui ressemblait
au nord du Mexique. Ça sentait la marijuana. Il s'agissait sans doute d'un groupe de trafiquants
de drogue qui opérait depuis le Mexique et exportait aux États-Unis.

Nous fûmes retenus en captivité pendant deux ans. Chaque jour pendant des heures,
on me forçait à travailler pour un morceau de pain et une gorgée de lait gâté. Vanessa était
encore plus mal en point que moi. Elle fut emmenée en ville et forcée à se prostituer. Pas un
jour passa sans des larmes et de la tristesse. J'étais épuisé par la fatigue et le stress pendant

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mes tâches, ce qui entraînait de violents passages à tabac de la part de mes ravisseurs. Pas un
jour ne s'écoulait sans que ce soit un enfer pour Vanessa et moi. Pas un jour ne se passait
sans que des pensées suicidaires me traversent le cerveau. Chaque jour, j'étais affamé, fatigué
et terrifié.

Après environ un an de captivité, je commençais à accepter mon environnement. Je
n'avais plus aucun désir de liberté, plus aucun sentiment de maltraitance, je ne me sentais plus
vivant . J'avais accepté mes conditions de détention. Je m'étais habitué à la famine et aux
mauvais traitements sans fin. J'avais oublié mes parents, mes amis et tout ce qui concernait ma
vie antérieure à San Francisco. Tout ce que j'avais, c'était la compagnie de Vanessa.

Au bout de deux ans environ, la police mexicaine fit une descente dans la ferme et
arrêta nos ravisseurs. Nous fûmes libérés et ramenés chez nous à San Francisco. Vanessa et
moi continuâmes à nous voir et à parler des événements. Nous devînmes de très proches amis
et suivîmes des séances de psychothérapie pour nous aider à surmonter nos expériences
difficiles.

Trois ans plus tard, nous avons une merveilleuse relation. Je l’ai demandée en mariage
car sans elle, ma vie n'aurait jamais été la même. Je n'aurais probablement pas survécu à ma
captivité car je me serais suicidé bien avant d'être libéré.

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“Maria”

by Kavi Fullerton

Maria, a seventeen year old girl, was walking home late at night. Every night she got
home past midnight because after school she had to work at bars and other establishments
illegally to make enough money because her parents did not make enough. She lived in a poor
part of Mexico City with three brothers and two sisters. The streets were almost pitch black and
Maria was stumbling around slowly and exhaustively when suddenly a hand wrapped violently
around her mouth and waist. She tried screaming but the hand muffled her voice, as she tried to
fight back. In the end, her attempts were in vain. The man’s grip was too powerful. He slammed
her into a wall, making Maria reel from pain and her previous exhaustion. She partially blacked
out for the rest of the encounter.

The next morning she woke up in her home, in her bed. It was a small house with only
one bedroom and two beds. Her parents explained to her that when she didn’t come home they
went looking for her and found her knocked out cold in an alleyway with her clothes torn up.
Maria then goes on to explain that she was pulled into an alleyway and the last thing she
remembered was getting raped. Her parents had rushed her to the hospital immediately and
got her tested. They waited in one of the rooms nervously for the doctor to return with the
results. He entered the room with an impassive expression leaving them unsure of the results.
Before he spoke, he sighed, then said three words, “ You tested positive,” then he left the room
afterwards. Maria’s parents followed after him to ask how expensive an abortion was, but they
didn’t like his answer. The abortion cost several times more then their monthly salary and they
only had three months to get all the money because an abortion is illegal after that period of
time.

The family did not give up hope yet; they worked double their normal hours and Maria
took on even more jobs. After two and a half months, they only had half the money so they gave
up. For the next six months Maria had to suffer horrible bullying and exclusion. She had
depression and wanted to commit suicide several times. After the nine excruciating months,
Maria gave birth to a baby girl whom she named Susan after a famous suffragist that she
learned of in class.

Maria, with tears streaming down her face, left the sleeping baby on the front stoop of a
church and walked away.

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“Le harcèlement sexuel”

by Eden Patron

Il était là
Là devant moi
Sa main, il me la donna
En me donnant le choix

Je croyais
Que ses intentions étaient pures

Il me semblait
Qu’il était sûr
Mes croyances étaient fausses
Il n’était pas réellement un beau gosse
Mais je ne pouvais pas savoir
Jusqu’à ce qu’il soit trop tard

81

“Sexual Assault”

by Lucie Plais

Marie was raped at a party by an 18-year old 12th grade boy when she was 14 years old
and in 9th Grade. At age 16, she wrote an essay in English class which had as its topic
something which marked her during childhood. She decided to open up for the first time about
her sexual assault.

In her essay she explained that she was going to the bathroom when Marc entered with
her, even though she didn’t agree. Marie said that she began to yell, but because the outside
music was so loud, no one could hear her. After her sexual assault, she wrote that her parents
saw that she was no longer that girl who was always happy and they didn’t understand what
happened. They made her see a psychologist, but she couldn’t speak at all.

Through her essay, she explained how scared she was that she had to suffer because of
that again and that inside she felt completely empty. She also described how guilty she felt by
thinking that maybe how she dressed incited Marc to rape her. It took her a long time to
understand that she wasn’t guilty of anything at all.

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“Trafic d'êtres humains”

by Ambre Dorey

Je les entends… Ils arrivent ! Il faut faire vite ! Il faut tout terminer avant qu’ils ne descendent et
ne voient ce qu’il se passe.

****
Cela fait maintenant deux ans. Deux ans que je suis entre leurs mains, deux ans que je
suis enfermée ici, que je souffre nuit et jour. Tout ce que j’ai toujours désiré, c’est de pouvoir
échapper à mes parents avec qui je ne me suis jamais entendue. Et voilà comment mon souhait
s’est exaucé, dans un réseau de trafic humain à me faire battre, forcée à travailler, et depuis
quelque temps, forcée à mettre mon corps au service de mes employeurs pour soulager leurs
pulsions sexuelles ou celles de leurs clients. Je veux que tout s’arrête, que je puisse retrouver
une vie normale, mais cela m'est interdit.
Jamais je ne me plains. Je n’en ai pas le droit. Au moindre cri, au moindre gémissement,
les bourreaux arrivent et battent la personne concernée. Mais c'est aussi parce que certaines
de mes camarades ont une histoire bien plus triste que la mienne, et pourtant, elles ne se sont
jamais plaintes. Certaines d’entre elles viennent de familles pauvres et ont cherché un travail
pour les aider. Malheureusement pour elles, elles ont rencontré la mauvaise personne. D’autres
sont des migrantes. À peine arrivées dans notre pays, elles se sont faites aborder et piéger par
des membres du réseau. Parfois, elles se sont simplement faites enlever. Donc pour moi qui ai
toujours vécu ici, dans ce pays riche, la vie est tellement belle comparée à celles des mes
“amies”. C’est pour ça que j’essaye de rester positive, de me dire que je finirai par m’en sortir.
Ce qui fait que je souris parfois. Je souris pour moi, mais aussi pour les autres, pour essayer de
les rassurer, de leur faire garder espoir.
Je souris surtout pour la petite dernière. Elle n’est là que depuis trois mois, mais elle
n’en peut plus. Tous les jours, elle pleure. Parfois, elle sanglote tellement fort que les gardiens
descendent et la battent en lui disant de se taire, ce qui ne fait qu’intensifier ses sanglots. Cette
scène me brise le coeur, mais que puis-je faire? Rien… Je suis enchaînée aux lois de cet
endroit, à la peur qui y règne, et ne peux donc rien faire, si ce n’est que la regarder avec
compassion. Un jour, je vais la libérer. Lui faire quitter cet enfer, à jamais.
Aujourd’hui, j’ai remarqué que les gardiens ont oublié une lame au milieu de la pièce.
Les poignets et les chevilles de toutes les jeunes filles présentes dans la cave sont liés à l’aide

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de menottes et de deux cordes (une pour les mains, une pour les pieds). Il y a aussi une fenêtre
en haut de la cave. Celle-ci est trop étroite pour pouvoir passer à travers, mais la petite fille,
étant la plus jeune du groupe, devrait pouvoir s’y glisser. Elle est tellement maigre que je n’en
serais pas étonnée.

Je ramasse la lame et me dirige vers la petite fille. Je m'accroupis à son niveau et
tranche ses liens. Les cordes tombent par terre, tandis qu’elle regarde ses mains et ses
chevilles et commence à pleurer. Elle a compris qu’elle allait quitter cet enfer et que j’allais
l’aider. Je l’attrape par les hanches et la soulève difficilement jusqu’à la fenêtre. Après de
longues minutes, la fillette arrive finalement à attraper le bord de l’ouverture. C’est alors qu’un
élément vient perturber mon plan.

Je les entends… Ils arrivent ! Il faut faire vite ! Il faut tout terminer avant qu’ils ne
descendent et ne voient ce qu’il se passe. Je fais signe à la fillette de se dépêcher. Elle réussit
finalement à se hisser et à passer à travers la fenêtre. Elle chuchote qu’elle reviendra
rapidement avec de l’aide, avant de disparaître de mon champ de vision, juste au moment où la
porte s’ouvre…

Les gardiens entrent dans la pièce. Voyant que la plus jeune manque à l’appel, ils se
mettent à vociférer, demandant « Qui... Qui l’a aidée à s’enfuir ?! ». Leurs regards se posent sur
moi, qui suis toujours sous la fenêtre. C’est alors qu’ils comprennent, « C’est elle ! Oui, c’est elle
la complice ! ». L’un d'eux m’attrape par les cheveux, me jette brutalement sur le sol, tandis que
l’autre me frappe, très vite rejoint par le premier. Je ne fais rien. Rien ne sert de se débattre, je
le sais. Ils sont trop forts pour moi. Plus j'en reçois des coups, moins la douleur est importante,
tandis que mes forces commencent à quitter mon corps. Puis, après une bonne heure, les
coups s’arrêtent. Des cris résonnent autour de moi, ainsi qu’une sirène. Mais pour moi, tout cela
est recouvert d’un bourdonnement sourd. Mes yeux se ferment lentement lorsque soudain je
sens quelqu’un m’attraper.

Une petite voix retentit à mon oreille. «Résiste ! Ne me laisse pas ! Je dois encore te
remercier pour m’avoir aidée à m’échapper…». C’est sûrement la petite. Un léger sourire
apparaît sur mes lèvres. Elle, au moins, elle pourra retrouver une vie un tant soit peu normal. Je
sens quelque chose de mouillé tomber sur mes joues. C’est elle... elle pleure en me secouant,
continuant de me hurler de m’accrocher, que les secours vont me soigner. Mais il est trop tard,
je le sais… Ils ne pourront pas me sauver. C’est en continuant de sourire, me disant que je suis
heureuse d’avoir aidé cette fillette, que ma conscience sombre petit à petit dans le noir le plus
total, avant de disparaître… À jamais…

84

“Sexual Harassment”

by Maguelone Ribo

In the night she walks alone
She tries to keep her eyes on her phone
Out of fear someone may approach her

And take her purity away forever
She is scared at any sound
And is always looking around

But one day as she walks back from school
She feels something cool
As she turns around
She sees a man run away
He had groped her

Her eyes full of tears she ran home
Girls experience things like this every day

And it's time for that to change.

85

Child Abuse

86

“La maltraitance des enfants”

by Luc Chone

Yeux pleins d'espoir, sourires heureux
Des mains douces, des millions de rêves

N'est-ce pas là l'identité d'un enfant?
Alors pourquoi je vois

Yeux pleins de larmes, visages terrifiés
Des mains rugueuses et des rêves brisés?

87

“Children with Bruises, a Fate No One Chooses”

by Nadia Rouag

Projecting onto them your mistakes
Angry and feeling betrayed
Yet gives you no reason to slash a child’s face

Children deserve respect
After all how they are treated has an effect
On them and one day the world
That soon they’ll have to preserve

These crimes are left undiscovered
While children hide under their covers
Frightened and alone
As the people that are supposed to love them the most
Draw blood and turn into ghosts

Children with bruises
A fate no one choses
Looking for help from adults
But being dismissed as a result

Speak out for those who cannot
Don’t let your voice be bought
Don’t let these children suffer just because you’re not

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“Maltraitance physique”

by Elizabeth Golster

Vos angoisses et vos problèmes,
Se cachent derrière les bleus sur leurs yeux
Ou les enfants se cachent derrière leurs larmes
Vos coups de poings les ont laissés silencieux et douloureux.

Vos secrets et vos claques
Laissent des empreintes sur leurs visages

Aussi bien que sur leurs coeurs
Un jour ils vous aiment et le suivant ils ont peur de vous regarder dans les yeux.

Vous n’avez pas honte d’avoir brisé leurs coeurs.

89

“Child Labor”

by Antoine Louvet

Hello. My name is Murad, and I am eleven years old. I have five brothers and sisters and I am
the oldest child. I was born here in Sialkot, Pakistan. My siblings, my mom, and myself, work in
a sewing factory. We do not have a house, so we all live and eat directly in the factory. We eat
one meal per day, which is a bowl of rice. I work everyday from five a.m. to nine p.m. . I used to
go to school; when I was seven, I learned how to count and started to read, but I had to stop
because we could not afford to pay for my education. Now, I work in this factory; I make clothes,
usually shirts, and every time I finish one, I look at it and realize that I will probably never be
able to buy such a nice thing. Then, I sew the tag; it says H&M. I work in a small room with
fifteen other children around my age. We work directly on the floor; it is very painful and many of
us have back problems. The room is small and has only one window; the air is very polluted
since the room is never cleaned. It is hard to breath. Adding to that, the temperatures get very
high during the day, especially in summer; it becomes almost unbearable, but we have no other
choice than to sit down and work. We are in that room all the time, we almost never get out;
there is a hole in one corner of the room, for when we have to use the bathroom. As for my
siblings, I only see them once a week; they work in other parts of the factory, all day too. For all
of the work that we do, we do not get paid; our employer gives us food, somewhere to sleep,
and new clothes once every year. He says that if he pays us, he will not be able to sell our work.
When I think about my life, I realize I was still lucky; my cousin’s parents were so poor that they
had to sell him. After they did, we never heard from him again. Of course, I would prefer to go
to school, but I have no choice. When I was young, I used to dream of being a cook when I grew
up. I was attracted by the idea of making food that would feed people, but also that would make
them happy. I still hope when my brothers and sisters grow up, I can have enough money and
start a restaurant. I know my mom would be very proud of me, but for now, I have to work to
help them as much as I can.

Worldwide, 10% of the children between 5 and 17 are in child labour, half of them work in
hazardous work. (source: ILO)

90

“Le Travail des enfants”

by Keira Kooy

Des jeunes hommes de tous les âges,
Travaillant pendant des heures,
Rêvent d’un soigneur

Pour les débarrasser de leurs malheurs.
Certains souffrent pour survivre
Sans autre choix possible
Afin de poursuivre
Leur vie horrible
Ce ne sont que des enfants
Nous devons les protéger
Dans ce monde cruel et injuste
Battons-nous tous pour être libre

91

“Child Abuse”

by Norah Rogers

I can’t sleep. I want to, I need to, but I just can’t. My back hurts; my upper arm is sore. I can
still taste blood on my lower lip. I need sleep. I wake up early for school, then after it’s over; I head
over to my old art teacher’s house to help bake pastries for her to serve at her bakery. She pays
minimum wage, but it’s better than nothing because Mom was the one bringing in the money.

Ever since Mom died this summer, nothing has been the same. My “dad” got into a new
hobby, which was drinking. He’s become a whole different person, always getting angry over
nothing. We’ve never gotten along, but now I’m always scared of what he’ll do if I disrespect him. I
can’t even bring myself to call him Dad. He’s become so violent; he yells and throws objects when
the smallest thing doesn’t go his way. He would never dare hurt my sister, but I hate that she’s
growing up with no memory of Mom; she will only remember the man that showed us no love. I hope
that if I turn our financial situation around he’ll change his attitude.
The next day, I got back from school to find my father sitting on the sofa. I said hello and walked by,
but before I could cross the doorway he sat up and firmly grabbed my arm. He looked me in the eye
and took a deep breath. He started yelling, saying he had found a wad of cash in my sock drawer; it
was the money I was saving up to help our family thrive. However, it was too late. He would never
believe me.

He went on and on about how I had stolen the money. He guessed that I would take my
sister and leave town, and made sure I knew he wasn’t going to let that happen. I tried explaining the
truth, but he wouldn’t listen. He grabbed my jaw tightly with his strong hand making it difficult to
speak as he finished his rant. I stumbled back and felt the wall behind me as he pushed me into it,
leaving bruises on my elbows. At that moment, my little sister opened the door and saw what was
happening. Tears flooded her eyes and my dad let go of me, walking back towards the couch, for he
would never hurt me in front of her. I ran to her and grabbed her backpack to bring it to our room as
she followed me. She said nothing, even after I closed the door behind us. She knew exactly what
was going on; she had seen it so many times before. She reached under her bed and got out the
first-aid kit. We don’t deserve to live like this, but what can we do about it?

I can’t believe so many people my age are out living their best life and going out with their
friends without a care in the world. They’re making as many reckless memories they can before
responsibilities kick in, while my sister and I are living in fear of the only guardian we have. Unlike
other teens, I couldn’t be more excited to grow up, so I can escape the grasps of my father and live
my own life.

92

“Alcoolisme et Maltraitance”

by Pierre Quereuil

La douleur ne s'efface jamais vraiment. Elle reste inscrite profondément sous votre
peau, comme des centaines d'éclats de verre enfouis sous plusieurs couches de peau,
attendant le moment propice où ils pourront revenir vous hanter à nouveau. Puis, vous vous
souvenez. Un mouvement soudain, quelque chose vous frôle les mains, un cri venant de l'autre
côté de la pièce. Soudain, ce que vous aviez oublié pendant si longtemps vous saisit à nouveau
le cœur et vous ramène.

C'était à peu près au milieu de l'automne, et les feuilles couleur d'ocre se balançaient
doucement dans le vent alors que je rentrais de l'école. Les arbres frissonnaient dans la brise
de l'après-midi, et le ciel s'assombrissait avec l'arrivée des nuages. Pourtant, le soleil brillait
encore à travers une petite brèche dans le gris foncé, illuminant le monde comme il l'avait
toujours fait. Je pouvais sentir sa chaleur m'embrasser, et je l'accueils, sentant la chaleur se
disperser lentement dans mon corps. Je dansai lentement le long du sentier, me rapprochant de
plus en plus de ses bras accueillants, et un sentiment d'euphorie s’empara de moi. Une goutte
d'eau frappa brusquement frappé mon cuir chevelu, brisant ma rêverie, descendant lentement
le long de ma joue pour finalement tomber et éclabousser le béton froid. Puis une autre. Et
bientôt, le ciel blanc se remplit d'eau, s'écrasant au sol. Je me couvris rapidement la tête d'un
classeur et je me précipitai chez moi, à l'abri de l'averse .

Je m’arrêtai juste devant la porte. Il y avait quelque chose qui clochait. Les lumières à
l'intérieur étaient allumées, mais ma mère n'était jamais rentrée aussi tôt. Sa voiture était garée
dans l'allée, juste devant la maison, en train de se faire arroser par la pluie. Elle brillait, reflétant
le soleil à peine visible à travers la masse sombre qui s'était accumulée dans le ciel. Un nœud
se forma dans mes poumons; mon esprit évaluait toutes les possibilités afin de savoir pourquoi
elle était là. La porte grinça légèrement lorsque je la poussai, cédant facilement. J’entrai dans
le couloir. Des éclats de verre brisé recouvraient le sol d'un reflet argenté qui s'écrasaient sous
la semelle de mes chaussures. Mon esprit se mit à tourner. Avait-elle recommencé ? Mes
poumons se tordirent l'un autour de l'autre et des nausées vertigineuses me frappèrent
comme un camion alors que je me débattais contre le mur à la recherche de quelque chose à
quoi me raccrocher. J’entendis des marmonnements venant de l'autre pièce. On aurait dit ma
mère, mais c'était impossible. J’entendis d'autres éclats de verre à quelques mètres de là.

93

Soudain, elle apparut dans le couloir. Maman ? M'aventurerai-je . Elle me regarda ,
confuse, avec des yeux vitreux. Maman ? Tu vas bien ? Lui demandai-je à nouveau. Mon
coeur battait dans ma poitrine. Cela n'aurait pas pu se reproduire, me répétai-je sans cesse.
Elle tenait une bouteille de bière vide dans une main. Elle se précipita sur moi, et mon esprit
s’évanouit au fur et à mesure que la douleur m'envahissait de tous les côtés.

"J'ai fait une chute brutale."
"Non, je vais bien, ce ne sont que des bleus."
"Ne vous en faites pas."
"Ça ne fait pas mal."

94

Psychological Distress &
Violence

95

“Alice Blanchet devant un jury”

by Nadia Rouag

“Donnez votre nom et dites comment vous connaissez la victime.”
“Bonjour, je m’appelle Alice Blanchet. Je suis la fille d’ Anne Blanchet, la victime.”
“Merci, maintenant expliquez-nous l’histoire comme vous l’avez vécue.”

“Bien sûr. Tout ça a commencé il y a un an. J’étais dans mon lit et je pouvais entendre mes
parents se disputer. Dans le passé, il y avait des moments où ils se disputaient mais jamais de
cette manière. Cette dispute était plus long et leurs cris étaient plus forts. J’avais peur. Au bout
d’une heure, j’entendis la porte se fermer violemment. C’était mon père qui était parti. Je décidai
donc de sortir de ma chambre. Je descendis les escaliers et vis ma mère en larmes sur le sol
de la cuisine. Mais quand elle me vit, elle essuya ses larmes et souria en m’assurant que tout
allait bien. Par contre tous les soirs, la même dispute avait lieu. Ceci continua pendant plusieurs
mois et tous les soirs ma mère s’écroulait sur le sol, en larmes. Un jour pendant la dispute de
tous du soir, j’entendis, au lieu de la porte qui se ferme, une claque et puis un cri. Le matin
suivant, ma mère avait une marque en forme de main sur sa joue. Avec le temps ma mère
présentait de plus en plus de marques et de bleus sur son corps. Avant de sortir elle se
maquillait toujours pour couvrir les bleus. Avec chaque coup la peur dans les yeux de ma mère
se multipliait.”

“Et d’après vous qui est coupable de ceci?”
“Jean Blanchet, mon père.”
“Merci, le jury va maintenant prendre en compte tous les témoignages : celui de Jean Blanchet,
d’ Anne Blanchet, et d’ Alice Blanchet.”
Quelques heures plus tard :
“Le juge va vous lire le verdict du jury.”

“Le verdict du jury est que Jean Blanchet est coupable de violence familiale envers Anne
Blanchet et devra passer 4 ans en prison. Je suis d’accord avec ce verdict. Merci à tout le
monde et bonne journée.”

96

“Je n'arrive pas à comprendre”

by Nicolas Fawzi

Je n'arrive pas à comprendre.
Combien de vies faut-il prendre?

Combien de familles ruinées,
Des personnes mortes, assassinées?

Combien de fois faut-il
Combien de juvéniles?
Leurs vies éteintes, terminées,
Des jeunes hommes exterminés.

Combien de temps doit-on souffrir?
Combien d'enfants doivent mourir?

Combien de coups de pistolet?
Combien de tirs de mitraillette?

Combien de statistiques faut-il
Avant qu'on change,

Avant qu'on arrête la violence?

Combien de cadavres?
Combien de larmes
Avant qu'on s'arrête

Et qu’on baisse nos armes?

Je n'arrive pas à comprendre.
Comment peut-on juste attendre,

Tout en sachant que
Rien ne va changer tout seul?

97

“La Television”

by Juliette Brown

Je suis né dans un nouveau monde,
Que es reinado por miles de millones de pantallas.
Je demande et je reçois dans une seconde,
Me dan otros videojuegos con pistolas.
Je reste chez moi en face de la télé,
Grito y hago un berrinche cuando pierdo.
Toute ma vie devient consommée,
Lo único que me interesa es mi juego.
L'école n’a jamais été une priorité,
Estoy hipnotizado por la violencia.
Qui veut apprendre quand on peut tuer,
La televisión es mi única dependencia.
J’absorbe les informations qui sont affichées,
Pierdo todo rastro de emoción.
Je joue sans cesse pendant toute la journée,
¿Es esta nuestra nueva generación?

98

“Une fusillade à l’école”

by Sophie Faustinelli

Un, deux, trois. Elles étaient sorties comme une fusée s'échappant de la Terre. Les
jeunes qui criaient n'étaient plus qu’une silhouette. Je me sentais en pouvoir, en contrôle de
l'atmosphère autour de moi, quelque chose que je n’avais jamais senti dans ma vie. J’errais
dans les couloirs fins et étroits pour regarder fixement mes camarades qui m'avaient autrefois
traité comme un invariable.

Ce sentiment a bien été coupé lorsqu’on m’a crié, “Mettez vos mains là où je puisses les
voir!”. Il y avait deux puissants hommes encerclés autour de moi. Je lâchai mon pistolet, qui
tomba par terre. Depuis, je ne me souviens plus ce qui s'était passé après mais j’avais
certainement pris conscience que j'étais attrapé dans cette misère de cellule de prison.

~

Ca me manquait les jeux de vidéos. J’étais presque à enfin obtenir le fusil 375. Je me
souvenais du son affreux, mais apaisant, des jeux vidéos qui me traversait sans cesse les
oreilles. Maintenant, les journées étaient longues et je ne voyait seulement un rayon de soleil
qui se glissait à travers les petites fenêtres dans les longs couloirs sombres. Je me demandai
combien de temps j’allais rester dans cette prison et si peut être j’avais eu tort de faire un tel
crime.

J'étais si seul, tous les soirs attrapé comme un animal dans sa cage appelée sous-sol.
Ma mere et mon père passaient leurs temps à se reprocher chaque action qu’ils faisaient et la
seule manière de m'éloigner, était dans ma cave. Même à l'école je n’avais aucune liberté. Je
me faisais pousser d’un coté à l’autre dans les couloirs maléfiques. Je recevais toujours les
regards les plus hidieux de mes camarades qui me rappelais encore une fois le manque de
pouvoir que j'avais dans cet établissement. Je ne resentais plus que du mal pour eux et que
une fois ils auront payés pour leur actions.

Le soir était tombé, une autre journée perdue. Je mis ma tête sur l’oreiller qui était
pratiquement plat et je fermai mes yeux.

99

“Addiction”

by Pierre Quereuil

I’m lost.
Infinite sea stretches before me, as calm as the sky above.
The murmurs of the waves are all I hear of,
Singing softly where no one has crossed.

Where am I?
A ripple forms within the cold ocean,
My eyes glance quickly to the broken,
As it reverberates across in reply.

What happened?
Cold rain hits my forehead softly,
The song of the ocean is off-key
And the clouds once white had blackened

Help me!
The sky booms as lightning strikes
I feel a gentle pull guide me away
A swirling motion down below

Why?
My hand reaches upwards as I desperately climb
The light slowly fades as does my vision
And I fall toward oblivion

“Mom?”
“Mom? Are you alright?”

100