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Assault

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I walk amidst the tumultuous noise, deadening the function of my lofty ears. I walk towards the stairs carefully lifting my feet as I progress rapidly than what I used to do. My senses are cut abruptly. Half of my spirit is journeying to a world unknown and half placed in loose fixtures all over my body. I see people dashing up and down, all their faces painted nonchalantly. People bump and touch my shoulders one by one. The gloomy atmosphere filled naught but the dim lighting and dull stairs dull walls. I am carried away in the sullen wind whishing past my ears, my skin. It is dark outside. The sky is heavily coated with the darkest tint of black. No stars or moon.
I keep my feet going. As I reach the cold hard floor almost halfway to the bridge I’m pursuing to, a lanky man with a black shirt and dusty backpack passes through me. His hands are swaying in the air, carried away in his swift movement. He fixes his stare straightly notwithstanding the crowd trapping us. Suddenly, I am caught in a usual yet diminutive dilemma. Suddenly, in those seconds, he passes by, I flinch and cringe from whence I stood. Nevertheless, I keep my feet going.
I am brought to life. The fingers…electrify my thighs…He didn’t do it intentionally. He didn’t harass me. My heart is awaiting to burst.
I am crashed for a small split-second. Poison devours my stomach, pelvis, knees, and legs.
And I am finally as placid as the waves as the sea…
I jail myself in a dark room, lock the door, and hide myself under the sheets. I remember…
The eyes defy me, the hands drain a portion of my purity, my soul, the voice curses me… “Just one try…wouldn’t hurt…” Every time I hear it, something blazes up.
I am being stripped off of my concealments and despised several times in a row.
As time flies, something reopens my eyes and my mind. Something deprives me of speaking, uttering the pure thoughts a decent child could ever think of. Something causes erosion inside my chest. The veins enlarge. The arteries rupture. Blood refuses to refill my capillaries.
A 5-year-old girl—black hair and thick pouty lips—was caught by the devil, by hook.
We see each other’s ghost. He smirks and talks as if the past had been deleted from his distorted wrecked brain. He pries continuously, and my eyes blaze up in scarlet flames.
The dagger, I thought once. It could make his blood ooze from every pore of his body. I can slash his neck that he may completely perish. I can pierce his stomach, that blood may gush out of his mouth. I can do anything for the sake of true vengeance. My brain is marred with the worst thoughts a 12-year-old could ever think of.
I drool at the mirror. Why me? Why me? I often ask myself. For why was I destined to drink that bitter substance from the goblet of damnation? Why was I destined to be damned and condemned forever? Who would love me? Am I pure?
The days unceasingly go by and I am back to a more normal better version of myself. Only with a few stains to dwell upon.
I see young lads wink and grin as they pass by. I hear them call my name and tell me I am beautiful. I feel an odd sort of electricity between me them, something new but tormenting. I still bear, though, the burden of accidental miniscule touches which drives my spirit away. I remember it..again.
Another day comes, and I walk in to a bright room with a lady in white suit, executive glasses and tinted vest to welcome me. I collapse on a chair in front of her. She watches me closely, speculating every detail, every breath, every flicker of my eyes. “Go on…” She begins.
I narrate a nasty piece of yesterday. Tears wells up in my eyes.
“Think of the smoke,” She says. And I thought of the smoke. “Finding its way out of an enclosed container.” And I pictured a large cloud of smoke trapped inside my body. “And once it finds a way to escape, it disperses into the air until it is gone thus leaving the container clean and purified. Now compare yourself to that smoke.”
Something swells in my bosom. I receive a new privilege…a new kind of freedom bequeathed upon me… from that day thereon. I can finally soar up into the sky even with partially-torn wings for I am free. And freedom breaks the fetters chained all over my soul.
“He remembers you…and thinks of you all the time…wanting to say sorry.”
“Forgive and forget…”
My heart softens…every time I reminisce those tender words which came out from her lips.
The boys smile and I smile back. The boys hold my hands and I care no more. I hug them and lean against their backs. I say HI with much boldness.
And I pray all the boys would love all the girls. I pray God would bless him forever just as how He blessed me upon my head.
Assault? I got it wrong.



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