Shrieking. Convulsing. Oh God, save me! I cry. Take me away, sweet tears! Transport me…NOW! I inwardly gasp. These tears, my tears, I succumb to them, escape in them. Through them, I beckon my past.
My tears, they transform me to the rains of my youth; a summer’s day washed fresh by the storm. I ran. I skipped. I played with the vigor of a child whose innocence dictated her aspirations and past times. Upon butterfly’s wings, I flew. Despite my malnourished belly, my unwashed face, these times equated bliss…in comparison. Yet, this youth I speak of, is a not so distant past. For youth I encompass and am in years. The rings of my soul, however, dictate an age bequeathed to me by those that ravage, that ransack, that devour. My body is of twelve years, my soul….is dead.
I see hell. I feel hell. Hell is my every waking moment. No light. No sun. No chance at the glow of warmth from a friend. However, alone I am not. I’m stalked by the hunter; the predator that seeks to kill me slowly but surely. He comes not in one guise, but in many. He lurks behind the pretenses of son, CEO, father, teacher, and lawyer. He comes ready to rip, shred, and eviscerate my body. He cares not for my humanity, for I am devoid of it. Devoid of pride, dignity, love….even a name. No longer do I answer to that which my mother adoringly anointed me with at birth, for I have become a number. Lost in the math of insidious lust and greed.
Behind glass, I am displayed. The choicest of morsels left ‘select’ for men whose pockets weigh heavily with lust. No…no… In this store, avarice always supercedes mercy. Not again, oh no….To be chosen is not the lottery I desire to win. Please no… Dare I look them in the eye those that choose to plunder my prepubescent body? Oh… I’m chosen. ..God….Defeat. ..NOOOOOO!!!
If I scream, I am beat. If I thrash, I am brutalized. …death… I am drug, a lifeless body acquiescent to her fate. Take me now….I am beaten; a hapless victim held hostage by malice. Take me before I see or…. I am pinned down, crushed, devoured,…destroyed. ….remember…. In shame, I let the psychosis of nostalgia rescue me from the present. I run. I skip, I play. My tears morph into rain drowning the now. …sweet escape.
The façade, the reality, they intertwine in a sick and alluring demise. Each vision becomes subjected to the next; the anguish becoming inextricable from the innocence. Crushing arms…Let me go!!! Dainty butterflies. I reach for those beautifully delicate wings. Tumult of fists. AaaaggghhHH… Laughter. Rape. JESUS! Nothing. ….