Monday, May 14, 2012

Battle of the Sexes Part 3

I wasn't a virgin. I had sex before the war started. And no, that does not make me some sort of slut who deserved what she got. I felt just as humiliated as any pure woman would. My heart crumbled just as fragile. I even blamed myself. But it wasn't my fault. He was an animal. Maybe society had crafted him but he was still responsible. If the law is all that keeps you from ravaging and killing women you are less than human.

As three men dragged my beaten body into an abandoned house, I told myself these things. I needed something, anything to draw my mind away from reality. How did they find me? I'd hidden for so long and the instance I came out from hiding it was over... Men were looking for any sex they could find. I guess I was it.

The pig, no worse than pig, was unzipping above me. I struggled and he hit me. My mother flashed through my mind; raped and murdered just as easily. My father protecting her; my sister leaving me; it was all surreal and yet too real. At times, before they had impunity, men pretended to be police, and got inside. That's how they killed her, my mother and the closest thing I ever had to a friend.

Oh, God, he was inside me. I wanted to throw up but threw my mind toward memories that were only slightly less horrifying. Father struggled. He was strong, maybe stronger. He could have won if not for the blade. It stabbed his side as I watched helpless from the stairs.

Nausea took me. Every thrust made me wish he'd end it all and slit my throat. Worse, my mind became focused on the living hell. He grabbed for my breasts and I had no will left to stop him. I heard a door opening. Was it heaven? Maybe God had come to take me away, if Satan had not already. It was impossible to tell before I saw her. She was not a demon.

A halo hung above a goddess with an automatic rifle. The worse than pig pulled out. I felt bleeding in full force. He rose toward her, moving inches seeming miles and was shot. The other two were next. I may have cheered if not for her own blood pooling on the carpet. "She was a hero," I thought, witnessing her body collapse. "I wish she hadn't paid the price."


  1. There is a price for everything. The decision to pay your self or allow another to fill the bill is a troubling exercise. I think there is something exchanged on both ends, neither pleasant.

    1. Thanks, Annie :) Your comments are always so thought-provoking.


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