Gun violence was in the news, the school children causing a riot, stirring up the temperature, putting themselves on the line, they can’t shoot children they thought. Neda, the young woman shot during the Iranian Revolution, it’s Easter, Solomon remembers.
The camera rolls while her life ebbs away, let the cameras’ roll, make my life count for something, she gasps reaching for air, knowing that very shortly she would be taking her last. Solomon imagines the last minutes of Jesus, the prisoners by his side asking questions, what sort of question would Neda have asked.
With her last few breaths, all she wants, is for the world to be aware of what is going on, the lives being stolen, the imprisonment of a nation, let the camera roll she says, then dies. So her spirit is taken up to Heaven, she meets old friends, deceased relatives, friends, then she spots Jesus, what would she say;
“they were not allowing us to live, enjoy beauty, it was as if these men were afraid of themselves” she says
“I know I know” he says with a smile on his face. he is glad she is there, there is a lot of explaining to do.
“It happened all over the place, they just enjoyed the control of women, that’s it!” he sighed, before adding;
“you give them a little power and they are soon addicted”
She rises her eyebrows, that’s it she thought, they were addicted to control right from the start.
Neda, young lady of the revolution, gave her life, made full use of it, amen.