Chase

A bolt of lightning flashed across the subtle streets,as I carved my way through the dark, sloppy vicinity of Trutons. Every flash meticulous in its own way, defining every detail of my voluptuous, curvaceous body and wet lobes of hair. As the cold windy gust of rain and snow flurried, the breeze pierced through my body and the lightening scintillated the narrow streets of Trutons,seemingly being pictured from nearby. For the first time I felt skittish, jittery and rather edgy walking down the streets of Trutons Colony, a well-reputed district of West Hiarch. It felt as if someone was chasing me, for every step I took was solely to oust, chicken out from the plashing shadowing zones. My heart thundered, thriving for life, demanding more oxygen as it pumped vigorously. The footsteps hounding sounded louder and closer. It was now when I started slipping into eternity. With a gasp I turned around.But before anything more could happen I was held together by two hands, one around my mouth and the other around my neck. He shut my coop and thrashed me against the wall. I stood dumbstruck against  the Weishter Apartments gazing into the fluoresce air and later down towards our shadows, embedded deep inside. I could only make out my buxom figure reflecting through the dark misty images against the big round moon where stood a huge hoodie beast in a long black costume, with his arms wrapped around me. I could hear my heart thud against my rib wall as the thunder grumbled. The stormy, whiff night wasn't just enough, for his hunger for a full-figured body never ended. I was merely a sleeping beauty, who asked for nothing but a rug and blanket.I needed sleep and was food-deprived. I had minimal clothes on, risqué but poverty-based and not flamboyance.I was a legend in my own shower who demanded love and protection and not wild debauchery. I was treated more like a down-trodden woman, obnoxious and used. I felt floozy. Society disapproved of me as a reputed individual and looked down upon me as a taxi, prostitute. It was painful, as it felt like oppression without voice, tyranny without protest. It came crashing down like a plane. I was immersed and drenched in sweat, ready to submerge in rain. As I struggled for help, the resistance paced. And sooner or later I was being raped in the quiet streets of West Hiarch. I couldn't clearly see the abuser, neither his features nor his shabby appearance which remained mystical till the very end. With my legs wide open, I strived for injustice while losing my virginity. I could feel a cock entering and leaving my body with a lot of force and pain. The guy panted, huffed and puffed as he made love to his pleasure. It was a game for him, but a life-long lesson for me.

.

 

  

 

Lonely Streets

Soon, I could sense a dog bark in the neighbourhood. I perceived it as the only voice that could be heard in the Colony. I peered hard to take a look at the debaucher and later that dingo who skedaddled through the puzzle.I waved and screamed hard to gain this mongrel's attention. The perpetrator quickly fulfilled his body need to elope.But to his surprise, the street tyke arrived at the crime scene. The canine plunged his teeth into the abuser's clothes and body, sweeping him back and forth. The rapist was now the victim, being harassed by a large off-the-leash mutt who bit hard and barked loudly. The predator turned around to let go of himself, but the aggressive, unkempt cur refused to hearken his orders. The scruffy dog, who was now my body-guard bit the attacker's eye leaving him unheard and injured. This was by far the only self-defending scene I ever saw, the one-eyed pirate as I reminiscence. As I layed in agony and fear with my back scraping against the street, my pup licked my face and body in empathy. He was my only saviour that day. I reached out to see for the assaulter, the so-called Dajjal in the Muslim world,he who fled from the crime scene while rubbing his eye. I found nothing but blotches of blood down West Hiarch's footpath.I was only faintly awake to differentiate my hymen blood to his eye's. 
     As I regained consciousness, I made my way back to my little shack, sobbing, falling, jolting up and down, to and fro. The pain was excruciating in nature and I needed morphine to settle the consequences. I only prayed to survive while undergoing the so-called palliative treatment. This only felt delusional, far away from reality because there was no abetment, benefaction or assistance. My pooch, my faithful whelp sniffed and followed me home. I took forty winks on my couch, and later abed to get some shut-eye. After a nine hour sleep,off to the land of Nod, my dog aroused me to have some breakfast.One toast and a cup of tea formed my fare for the whole day. As I stood by my window watching people laugh and enjoying life to the fullest, I lamented, crying my eyes out feeling lonely and insecure.Tears streamed down my cheeks as I moaned. My coyote kept licking them away. And I kept hugging him as he cuddled.The deplorable scenes were like floaters before my eyes, hurting me inside out. I experienced so much woe and just couldn't get the grievous incident out of my head.It was gloomy yet dreary, damaging and achy. 

Another heart beat

After rousing out of siesta,I fidgeted my pockets for my handkerchief which I remembered fell on the way,as I took a trip down the memory lane. I had nothing to wipe my tears with, as I rip in two explicitly condemning the the sorrowful change that dawned upon me. There was no light except  sunlight or moonlight, no synthetic rays or electricity. Also, there was no water or gas. I washed my tears with rain-water and cooked food with wood-fire.I felt helpless,floozy, angered and prying. The next day, I talked to myself from sunrise to sunset. It sounded psychotic and kept me worried. My genitalia had tears all around, with blood pouring out like a downpour. With my rain-soaked clothes I cleaned my inner-self. After a kip, following another forty eight hours, I barfed,which projectiled outside my window, down, covering an Indian, Dr.Prathik Yash who stood by my cabin.My mouth flopped open as I stood aghasted then hid below, so that he wouldn't see me. But unfortunately, he spotted me. I had to express my abject apology.Later, the coming evening brought more affliction, and suffering watching people gossip,bully and eyeing as I stood by my windowpane. I gauged their hysterical looks, gleaning and gathering news slowly and laboriously. They would judge something frivolous,embarrassing and wrong went on with me. I could sense and hark back their gaze. Dr.Prathik had spread the word. I felt like a reclusive, timorous creature.It was eccentric as I was the talk of the town.I could perceive news of my pregnancy circulate.No one said anything definite but I felt the torment.I was pressurized into covering, veiling myself as I walked down the markets nearby to garner myself some healthy food.Feeling dandy and self-conceited, I told myself, "Oh it's just a rumour." But just another vomit told me who I am. I was about to be a mother to a child. I could see that bump emerging from my abdomen and hear a heart beat louder than my own. I would percuss in ambiguity to check for an embryo which could now be seen in vain.This brought more tribulation and despair. I had no doctor or paramedical acquaintance to check me. The only doctor I knew was a rotten apple responsible for destabilizing and segregating, spreading my pregnancy news. Dr.Prathik was the culprit, and now my worst rival, second to my child's father. I couldn't forgive both, but I shrugged off the criticism, absolved them and forcefully conceded defeat.

 

 

Masqueraded Grief

As the days went by, I grew more doleful and melancholic. I felt nervy of revealing my true self to the world, petrified of lifting my bala clava. Nobody knew I was raped, instead I was known as an inamorata to many.
    " I swear by my child's life, I don't even know what the baby's father looks like," I whispered to myself.As all three trimesters went by, I started having labour pains. Alas! One day with sustained coax I pushed hard over a hundred times when I finally gave birth to a cute little angel, someone who brought tears of happiness to my eyes and masqueraded my inconsolable grief. I was in love with those dainty little fingers and that small petite body. She resembled me alot. I had my days, for I lived merrily. I was content when came the most difficult days of my life.  

Tiny little coffin

I could see myself in her. I never wanted her to go through what I did. Or anyone to find me in her innocent looks for they will desert her, rape her or establish intimate relationships with her as she grows.With a heavy heart I weaned my child off breast milk and wrapped her in blanket to make it down to the garbage can. There, one could see a contaminated lake, an isthmus connecting the garbage to the sewerage nearby. I weeped loudly as I placed my heart, my soul by the garbage can.As I walked away, I could see houseflies surrounding my little girl, dogs and crows preparing themselves to eat her flesh. In a high pitch, I sobbed, which echoed in the dark narrow streets of Liam Albert.  As I tread down the footpaths of Liam,West Hiarch I met police officers who waved at me. I asked one of them where they were going, he replied, "Someone dumped an infant by the garbage can, we're going to burry her." From across a distance I could see my baby in a tiny little coffin. The sad incident casted a pall on the proceedings. 
 "Where are you going?" he uttered. I replied, "To burry this incident."  
"Where?" he questioned. "Inside me," I cried.

With this,I turned around and gave myself to him. He stood dumbstruck in an awe and confused as he stared at my shabby self and muddy hands in the air.In anguish, he showed his softer self lifting his brow as he camouflaged. Since he was bound to arrest me I let the handcuffs swing around my wrists as I sat inside the police car. As we drove down the countryside, one of the officers started playing with my hair, the other licked me and stroke my back being sexually suggestive. As I pushed one away he ripped my clothes in anger and the other bit my neck. I was now being harassed in between my last journey,my jail-journey, with love-bites all over. In jail, male police officers would visit often and would torture if I broke my harassment news to other women. I would shiver in anxiety before every male police-prostitute and mourn secretly. I guess, after knowing many men in life I now knew my true self.I was no Rebecca Arnold.I was a woman,a used and abused crybaby who buried her baby who cried.

Note: Rebecca Arnold was a rape victim, found guilty in a case of child assault.She was barred for the rest of her life where she contracted a fatal disease and passed away on February 21st, 1857.

 

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 07.08.2018

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