Archive of Our Own ^beta

You walk along the streets and cafes of Casbah, not the European section of anywhere else in that place. You see women veiled, the French paratroopers gazing disgusted at their long veil that goes over their shoulders. You tuck in a piece of your hair, it is shorter by the previous year. As you sink in your thoughts, the France nudged at your elbow hard with the tip of his gun. The man is significantly taller than you -he held a "charismatic charm” a very showoff like personality.

But that didn’t matter knowing him within his layer of lies.

You nonetheless nod slightly at his command. Whilst looking the other way in hatred. " What is it now?, madam Nesrine " he says. Purposely calling you that name, although you have shown strong discomfort to it. Don't call me that" you shout— but it wouldn’t matter to him Your identity to him seemed as his own.

"What is a woman like you doing dressed in these kind of clothes?.." he leans in intrigued, tugging roughly at the top of your uniform. You felt there was something deeper in him, as if something awoke in him. You looked off to the side and didn't respond.

It was quiet,not for long it would stay this way.

Falling on the steps, the red tiles catching every frame of your distasteful fall. The blood seeped out of your forehead ever so slightly. At the corner of your eye, you could see him looking at you, as if he was investigating an object, not a person but a sole object. He never seemed to see you as a person, nor a man. Nor anything, nothing could be compared to you In his eyes. He seemed to put it out more in actions then words.

He then clasped his hand with yours, gripping it tightly as he stood your head up against the wall, his legs forcefully making its way in-between yours and his breath seemed to pause every time he stole glances at you—claiming that "nothing was wrong with you" and you "looked beautiful then ever". His presence reeked of alcohol, everything about him made you uncomfortable — you then averted your gaze elsewhere as he closed the gap in between the both of you, his eyes never leaving yours, and a smile formed at the tip of his mouth as he leaned in closer. He held you in place as he kissed you ruthlessly, It was as if he never had seen a woman before, you throw him off violently and raise your voice at him. He doesn’t flinch, but he seemed to “respect” you.

“You know how precious you are to me”. He goes on saying, it seemed that was the only thing he ever talked about. How you are apart of him spiritually. No identity but only his. You don’t respond. Tears formed in your eyes as you barely even concentrate on what he was saying. It was faint, but it made its way through you sharply. 

Your body was limp and fragile as he held you — he suddenly pinched your noise hardly and threw your head forcefully in the water well, as water burned up your nostrils, you could feel a sore sensation in your throat. It gave you a sense of death. And your tears fell on the tip of your mouth, a salty taste.

It didn’t matter to him that you were almost dead. He wanted it to happen to you, to him, disobeying such a man could be costly. But it could free you. Free you from his cruelty. He proceeds to cover you in a towel, to 'dry' you off but it wouldn't get the feeling off of you ever. 

July 5th, 1962.

Then you could see the green white and red banner, as people held it high in photos, various smiles and cries of happiness filled the nation and the newspapers, it was a very beautiful sight to see. Then all the fighting you had went through had a 'reward'. And that was the autonomy of the People's Democratic Republic of Algeria. France seemed to get more bothered at the sight of you being free. But yet you relished in it. As that was what you had always wanted. You stare at him in the distance.

"Au revoir Algérie " He says with a bittersweet tone. That moment never left your head. You don't respond and rather would ignore it. As for what the future holds is unknown.