The girl who fought back

The legacy of Alice Paul and her fight for women's rights has already been potrayed through history books, land marks and even a film. but this is my adaptation on the the heart warming tale of the girl who fought back.


2. Her diary: part one

Monday 3rd March 1913

I hold my head high and march on proudly. The crowds around me are lining the streets, watching in fascination, jostling and talking. Confused on what to do, I guess. The parade is upbeat and new, road is swarming with people all out for the same thing. People don’t know how to act when they see some thing new. Leading the march at the front is Inez Milholland, a lawyer dedicated to our cause. She is astride a white gorgeous horse, donning a billowing white cape. She looks righteous and indigenous, I can only hope I look the same; it feels phenomenal to be making a stand, to make people listen. A few more women join, their faces showing defiance, (obviously tired of being put down by men) their dress’s gliding in time to the trumpets and their hats adding to the sea of colour. My heart flutters in my chest, a smile quirting at my lips.

Behind Inez stretched in a long line is nine bands, four mounted brigades, three heralds, about twenty-four floats, and more than 5,000 marchers. Banners sway in the air, purple, white and yellow flags patrol the sky, and feet stomp with purpose, women on the float wave happily, happy to be making a stand. The colors are bold and bright, the noise is loud and happy. The crowds are smiling and cheering now, children are pointing in excitement, women are waving flags, and the clapping is making me dizzy with relief. The sight is breath taking, the atmosphere crackling with pride for who we are. We are women, and we shall not go quietly. The thought rings true and I vow to myself to never stand down. It isn’t just about me any more. So many lives are at stake…

To my right a smash echoes down the road. I turn to see a glass bottle crushed on the crowd. That isn’t good. The crowds are all silenced; men are taking the chance to throw things now, jeering and booing. My face collapses as I look around in a desperate attempt to make them stop. No one stops moving, even as things are flung at us: news papers, leaflets, beer bottles and flags. Mothers and children are disappearing… escaping. The cheering turns to shouting, the excitement turns to fear. Women are twisting round in despair. The police barley stopping the men, from jumping over the delicate, unsturdy barriers in front of them. Suddenly the crowds of infuriated drunken men over flow, and women disperse into the confused chaos, shrieking and screaming. I twist my head, searching for my friend. She calls my name and I reach helplessly into the mob of violent men.  We will not be deterred.

Note from the author- 300 women were hurt by the mob and at the senate hearing they were told: “There would be nothing like this happen if you would stay at home.”

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