Amna Aman
Apr 16, 2013 16:21:39 GMT -5
Post by Amna Aman on Apr 16, 2013 16:21:39 GMT -5
Amna Aman
[/font][/size][/color]We are not property.
.....................................................................
Full Name: Amna Aman
Code Name:
Age: 27
Date of Birth: March 8th
Sexual Orientation: None
Species: Human
Alliance: Civilian
Citizenship: DC
Canon or Original?: Original
"Victory is MINE Baldy!
And if you had any hair I'd take that too!"
And if you had any hair I'd take that too!"
Hair: Long, wavy black hair. Always braided over her right shoulder and nearly as often covered with a hijab.
Eyes: Almond shaped and light brown, generally with glasses
Height: 5’4
Weight: 120
Distinguishing Marks: Amna is missing her right ear. She also has acid burns from the back of her neck down her right shoulder, arm, back, and hip. These scars are much older than the Arabic word for prostitute carved across her chest. In addition to these are multiple, more generic signs of past abuse and injury, as well as a slight limp.
Appearance:
Amna is petite, demure, and has the eyes-cast-downward posture of a badly abused woman on the mend. She loves to wear colorful hijabs and cheerful outfits to remind herself that she is no longer trapped in a desperate situation. Her smiles come more frequently now, but are hesitant and shy. Amna wears her dark hair over her right shoulder in order to conceal the fact that she is missing her ear, when her hijab is worn loosely. She wears long shirts and skirts to cover the acid burns. Though liberated from her country’s culture, she remains chained to her past by the physical and mental scars cast upon her.
Face Claim:
princesshana
"I’m not interested in making new friends,
I don’t even like the ones I have”
I don’t even like the ones I have”
Likes:
Malala Aman
Captain Charity Cooper
Hawaii, her new home
Bright, cheerful colors
Sewing new clothes and toys for Malala
Teaching Malala about the Muslim culture
Being able to use her past experience to help people
Ice cream, a recent discovery
Dislikes:
Fear
Hate
The Taliban regime
Doctor visits
Getting caught in large crowds
Eating meat (or being told to eat meat)
The ignorant questions American people will ask her
Personality:
Amna is a sweet, gentle character. She goes out of her way to be polite to strangers and will do everything she can be to as nice as possible to the people she’s helping. She wants to be as upbeat as possible. She has lived through something truly terrible and horrific but has not allowed her experiences to cast a shadow over her. Amna is a different kind of fighter. A different kind of hero.
"With great power comes great responsibility"
Powers:
None
Weapons
Except the can of mace she carries with her, none
Strengths/Abilities:
Perpetual cheerfulness
Eagerness to learn and to teach in return
Determination
Weaknesses:
Nightmares, which lead to crippling fear that can keep her housebound for days
Physically weak
The English Language (face it, it’s hard)
"All it takes is one bad day to reduce
the sanest man alive to lunacy,"
the sanest man alive to lunacy,"
History:
Amna was not born to the name Amna Aman, but rather changed it. She’s cast off her family name and forgotten it. Amna was born to an Afghanistan squashed beneath the Taliban’s thumb. Under their regime, she was never educated. Although her mother taught her just enough reading and math to get by as a housewife, Amna never went to school and could only read in the middle of the night, in secret, by stealing her brother’s school books. She was well behaved and liked among the neighbors.
At the age of ten, Amna was sold into marriage to a Taliban official older than her father. Her life shifted drastically from one of peaceful obedience to constant abuse. Her husband was mean. He beat her over the smallest infractions, and often while abusing his rights as a husband. Amna once thought about running away, but when her mother found out she broke Amna’s leg. Her mother said that Amna ought be grateful, because her father and husband would have done much worse. She stopped thinking about running away. Amna aborted her first child at the age of thirteen. Unable to consider the thought of raising a daughter to this society, or rearing a son to act like his father, she secretly ended her pregnancy and never told her husband.
When she was nearly seventeen years old, Amna conceived again. And again she aborted the child. This time, however, her husband found out. Enraged, he took a kitchen knife and severed her right ear. He pulled a glass of acid from the shelf, a constant threat to keep his wife in line, and threw it at her. Amna managed to turn away so that it missed her face, but she was still burned. Beaten, bloody, and burned, she stumbled from the house screaming for help. She really isn’t sure when she passed out. But she knows she woke up in a hospital, bandaged and not alone. A blonde woman held her hand, wearing the U.S. Army’s uniform. Amna had only ever seen one on television, and her husband said they were terrible monsters. Yet given the fact that her husband had thrown acid at her and this woman held her hand tenderly, Amna decided to trust the monster.
Captain Charity Cooper had found Amna in an alleyway and brought her to the hospital. She had stayed with the girl until she woke. Through a translator, Charity explained who she was and how she found Amna. She also offered to take her out of Afghanistan. Because Amna had been so badly beaten by her husband, Charity was able to work through a woman’s network to remove Amna from Afghanistan and have her placed in a hospital in Hawaii until she fully recovered. Once recovered, Amna went to live with Charity’s parents on one of the small islands. Here she learned English so that when Charity returned from her tour, Amna could greet her with a proper thank you. Together, they built a life for Amna. She learned English, got a job making clothes for a small boutique, and began vocalizing her story. With Charity’s help, Amna began to spread her story across the world using the media. She wanted people to know that the Afghanis were victims of the Taliban, and not all of the Arabic peoples were Taliban.
Shortly before turning twenty-five, Amna was invited to Gotham to talk about her escape from her family. The interview was promising and she felt as though she were making a difference. During her stay, she visited a Mosque to speak with the church leaders and remain connected to Allah. As she headed back to her hotel, a man who had been visiting the Mosque as well kidnapped, beat, and brutally raped her. He carved the Arabic word for prostitute across her chest and belittled her for abandoning her husband. He left her to die. She was found when Captain Cooper came to Gotham after Amna failed to return home. The Plan B given at the hospital failed, and an abortion was unlawfully denied her. Amna was forced to carry and give birth to her attacker’s child.
Malala Aman is now nearly two years old and Amna loves her with everything she has. But she lives in terror of the day that Malala begins to wonder why she has no father present in her life.
"Next time guys, we should just
rebuild this place outta Lego."
rebuild this place outta Lego."
Writing Sample:
Amna carried Malala to her room. The toddler had fallen asleep during the party at the Coopers, and Amna had to carry her up the hill. Malala was a prodigious sleeper and never once stirred from the moment Amna lifted her off the couch. Now she tenderly lay her daughter in her princess bed and pulled off her shoes. Malala had beautiful black hair and a pudgy baby face. Tourists thought she was Hawaiian, until they say Amna and realized they were Muslims. That was usually when Malala stopped looking so cute to them. Their actions always made Amna frown in concern. She worked hard to educated the world, but still many people immediately thought of the Taliban when they saw her hijab. Amna had stopped wearing the burka in exchanged for a hijab upon leaving Afghanistan, but could not bring herself to go without as the Americans did. Without her hijab, Amna felt exposed.
Brushing Malala’s hair from her face, she tucked the baby in, raised the safety bar on the side of her bed, and closed the mesh pink curtains that surrounded her. Malala had fallen in love with a movie princess and had since made a point to pick her out of even the busiest toy shelves. Amna didn’t mind. There were worse role models than Princess Jasmine. Before leaving, Amna checked the lock on Malala’s window, turned on her nightlight, and then set up the babygate at her door. Pausing for one last look at her daughter, Amna turned and went into her own bedroom down the hall. Charity had recently moved out, closer to the town, so that Amna and Malala could have their own space. She still visited nearly every day, though. Charity was Amna’s best friend.
Amna’s room was sparcely decorated. Cheerful and yellow, there were no mirrors in this room and only a few vases of flowers. Malala’s doodles had been proudly taped to the walls. Amna unwound her hijab and folded it up, then unbuttoned her long tunic dress and removed that as well. Taking a fortifying breath, she went into the bathroom and turned on the light. There, in the mirror, she could see it. The ugly word badly scraped into her skin. It looked worse as a scar. Charity had taught her to take courage from that scar. Like her ear and her burns, this scar was proof that the culture of men needed to change. It was a symbol of Amna’s strength to be broken so many times and still come out the better person. To be sweet and kind no matter what they did to her. Charity called Amna a hero.
But all she saw was a scar. An ugly scar. Another example of why American thought all Muslims were bad. Another misconception. He had never been caught. The Mosque tried to help locate her attacker, but he had gotten on a flight to Europe and escaped back to Afghanistan. There was nothing to be done. Her only consolation was that he did not know her true name. Her family would not learn that she was alive.
Amna shut off the light and got ready for bed. She had a flight to catch the next day. She and Malala were going to Metropolis. The foundation she often worked with had invited her to a sit-in type of demonstration. The day after tomorrow, she would sit on the edge of a popular playground with ten other women from all races and classes. She had a sign with her name and a quick telling of her personal story. All the women would. She would sit by the park without her hijab, wearing a cropped shirt and a pair of shorts so that her scars and injuries would be plainly visible. Malala would sit with her or play in the park.
The point was to let other women see that it could happen to anyone. That abuse wasn’t just something for the poor (Amna’s family had been rich) or limited to race (there were white women sitting in too). They would hand out cards with the national hotline, alerting everyone that domestic abuse was not okay and there was somewhere to go. They were not alone.
”Mama!” Malala wailed from down the hall.
Amna paused as she buttoned her pajama top. “Yes, precious?” she called back in Arabic. Malala spoke in fits of English and Arabic, caused by her exposure to Charity and her family.
”Maaaaaamaaa!”
Laughing at how piteous she sounded, Amna tossed her hair over her shoulder and walked down to Malala’s room. Malala hung on the babygate, whining for attention. “You should be asleep, habiba,” Amna chided softly. Malala’s reply was to hold out her hands. She wanted to be with Amna. “Okay. Only because I need you to sleep. Tomorrow is a big day.”
And so Malala got to sleep in Amna’s big bed, nestled up to her mother.
"I'm through talking, get out of my cave,"
Your name/alias: Roe (my computer was down for a week with no other mode of logging on.)
Timezone: Eastern
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