Women's Revenge

Chapter Six_Episode Two

Scene 1

Amad pulled his car up alongside the curb, eyes scanning the street with sharp urgency. There, Ikhlas moved along the wall, her steps heavy and exhausted, each one dragging against the weight of her fear.

Panic etched across his face, Amad’s voice cut through the chaos, firm and commanding:

Amad: “Get in, quickly, Ikhlas!”

Ikhlas turned toward him, her eyes hollow and weary. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Her legs gave way, and she collapsed to the ground.

Without a second thought, Amad leapt from the car, rushing to her side. He scooped her up into his arms, shielding her as he carried her to the vehicle.

Above, Nimer stood on the balcony, his gaze fixed on them. Slowly, he raised his weapon and fired into the air above Amad’s car, the bullets whistling ominously.

Amad slammed the accelerator, the tires screaming against the asphalt, and drove with every ounce of speed he could muster.

From above, Nimer’s eyes followed the fleeing car. A mocking smile curled on his lips as he unleashed another volley of gunfire in their direction.

Amad didn’t hesitate. He swerved, aiming the car toward the pursuing officers, returning fire with calculated precision as the streets erupted in chaos around them.

Scene Two

Fourteen years had passed since the January 25, 2011 revolution. The streets had finally returned to calm, the terror that once gripped the city faded, and security had been restored. Darin sat in her room, perched on a chair before her small desk, pen in hand, writing in her journal, trying to piece together memories of a revolution that remained painful and vivid in her mind.

A gentle knock came at the door. Dalida, Darin’s mother, entered, carrying a cup of coffee. She placed it on the desk and stood there, her voice calm yet tender:

Dalida: "Enough, Darin… the revolution ended fourteen years ago, my dear."

Darin lifted her gaze toward her mother in silence. Fatigue etched deeply across her face, the dark circles beneath her eyes stretching over half her visage. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and drew a slow, heavy breath.

Dalida: "So, what now, Darin?"

Darin: "Now? I don’t know…"

Dalida: "When will you know? Don’t you feel like you’re losing yourself, Darin?"

Darin exhaled deeply, her eyes brimming with pain:

Darin: "I’ve been lost for a long time… ever since I was r***d in the square… while I was standing up for them, shouting ‘Bread, Freedom, Social Justice’… the whole world saw, and no one defended me… no one tried to save me… I lost myself because I was foolish, sacrificing myself for people who didn’t deserve it."

She stubbed out the cigarette and took a sip of coffee, trying to calm the storm inside her.

Dalida: "You’re not the only one this has happened to… I warned you, told you not to go… and honestly, you are responsible for everything that happened."

Darin rose from her chair, placed her hands firmly on the desk, and stared at Dalida with a cold, piercing gaze. Her voice was sharp, steady:

Darin: "You’re all the same… you, them… exactly the same."

Dalida: "Thank you, Darin… I know how you feel… but I warn you… you’re wrong. People your age are married and living their lives."

Darin: "Married and living their lives? Married for what?"

Dalida: "Then go to church… and you’ll calm down… believe me."

Darin: "And you think I’m crazy? Or mentally ill and that you’re here to calm me down? Does your talk calm me or anger me? Coming to tell me marriage and church and that people have changed? Surely someone set you on me!"

Dalida: "Who, Darin? I’m your mother, my dear."

Tears streamed down Dalida’s face. She walked toward the door and left the room, closing it softly behind her. Darin sank back into her chair, pulled out another cigarette, lit it, then put it out moments later. She picked up her pen once again, resuming her journaling, lost in an inner world that had never known peace.

Scene Three

She sped down the road, the engine roaring like a wild beast awakened, and the wind slapped her face with every mile they covered. Each beat of her heart raced in sync with the wheels, tension and determination coursing through her veins. She quickly reached for the radio, and Dalida’s voice filled the car, singing “Helwa Ya Baladi”, as if trying to calm her racing heart—but instead, it stirred a mix of longing and nostalgia.

She pulled a cigarette from the pack, lit it, and drew a deep drag. Smoke curled through the cabin, mingling with the heat from the engine and the scent of the open road, creating a strange mix of fear and freedom. Her eyes never left the road, scanning for turns, other cars, glowing lights, and the long shadows stretching across the pavement.

The wind whipped against the car from both sides, creating a sharp whistling sound, as if the road itself were screaming along with her. The sense of danger grew with each passing second. Pressing harder on the gas, the car surged forward, as if trying to escape everything clinging to her chest—the pain, the fear, and the relentless memories.

Sunlight streamed through the windshield, catching the glint of tears that hadn’t yet dried on her cheeks, but she didn’t slow down. There was only one thing on her mind: to keep going, to move forward, even if it meant leaving everything shattered behind her.

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