She was safe for now. For four more days at least. The lull had offered
her some breathing space, some respite, even though her stomach churned
when she imagined how she would handle the eventual assault when it
came.
She could not exactly recall when the abuse started, but it must have been when she was really young. Nearly 23 now, but for years, she had been been touched, fingered, poked, probed, played about with. She detested it. All sorts of people, louts, thugs, ruffians, dirty hands. But it was not bad all the time, and she remembered there were some who had handled her with gentleness, and rewarded her well.
Now she was being threatened with rape, the worst abuse she could possibly face. Her tormentor had been sending emissaries for days. They circled her like hungry wolves, howling with laughter as they bared their fangs, and bayed long into the night for her blood. She heard them devise plots about how they would prepare her for the final slaughter, the final insult.
For nights she tossed and turned, slipping in and out of nightmares, and sometimes contemplating suicide. She wondered how it had come to this. That someone she knew so well would want to inflict this amount of abuse on a simple soul. Or did she know them well?
The master’s flunkies made sure to let her know how many days her torture would last before her tormentor finally held her down and made her his eternal slave.
As she sat in her musty cell, she also heard that there was another side, one that screamed, “No!” to the harm that those sadistic persecutors had sworn to inflict; a side that vowed to do everything in their power to shield her from that ugly devil’s calloused hands.
She also got news that some of the allies from her tormentor’s palace had joined forces with those she hoped would deliver her, in condemning their master’s act, and that they were burning the midnight oil, scheming about how they could cart her to safety. And freedom.
She knew there were other people out there who had the ultimate power to save her, that they only had to say one word and the pain and fear would all stop. They had watched over her in the past, and in some instances she had gotten temporary justice, some reprieve. And this time, a little mouse had whispered to her that they had intervened to save her from the hangman’s knee.
Now the day had come when she was to be taken before the judge, a judge who had acted as the police and her accuser.
And somehow, that judge was acting like they were not ready to condemn her. She looked him straight in the eye as he spoke lengthily, justifying why her case could not be heard and why it should be given more time, more consideration.
And that had offered a semblance of peace.
But how long would it last?
She could not exactly recall when the abuse started, but it must have been when she was really young. Nearly 23 now, but for years, she had been been touched, fingered, poked, probed, played about with. She detested it. All sorts of people, louts, thugs, ruffians, dirty hands. But it was not bad all the time, and she remembered there were some who had handled her with gentleness, and rewarded her well.
Now she was being threatened with rape, the worst abuse she could possibly face. Her tormentor had been sending emissaries for days. They circled her like hungry wolves, howling with laughter as they bared their fangs, and bayed long into the night for her blood. She heard them devise plots about how they would prepare her for the final slaughter, the final insult.
For nights she tossed and turned, slipping in and out of nightmares, and sometimes contemplating suicide. She wondered how it had come to this. That someone she knew so well would want to inflict this amount of abuse on a simple soul. Or did she know them well?
The master’s flunkies made sure to let her know how many days her torture would last before her tormentor finally held her down and made her his eternal slave.
As she sat in her musty cell, she also heard that there was another side, one that screamed, “No!” to the harm that those sadistic persecutors had sworn to inflict; a side that vowed to do everything in their power to shield her from that ugly devil’s calloused hands.
She also got news that some of the allies from her tormentor’s palace had joined forces with those she hoped would deliver her, in condemning their master’s act, and that they were burning the midnight oil, scheming about how they could cart her to safety. And freedom.
She knew there were other people out there who had the ultimate power to save her, that they only had to say one word and the pain and fear would all stop. They had watched over her in the past, and in some instances she had gotten temporary justice, some reprieve. And this time, a little mouse had whispered to her that they had intervened to save her from the hangman’s knee.
Now the day had come when she was to be taken before the judge, a judge who had acted as the police and her accuser.
And somehow, that judge was acting like they were not ready to condemn her. She looked him straight in the eye as he spoke lengthily, justifying why her case could not be heard and why it should be given more time, more consideration.
And that had offered a semblance of peace.
But how long would it last?
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