You. It Was You.

May 12, 2017
By nya00 BRONZE, Yakima, Washington
nya00 BRONZE, Yakima, Washington
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

There is a room.
Within this room there are two chairs.
Two people sit within those chairs completely still.
Among this uncomfortable stillness is silence.
They sit for what feels like hours, until one speaks.
“What’s wrong?” A man in a chair says.
Three words, eleven letters and two seconds.
That is all it took to break her
The woman who sits still in the second chair.
She takes two deep breaths, hoping it will help.
Then she speaks.
“I was sexually assaulted.”
The room goes silent.
The man doesn’t know how to reply.
The woman’s eyes water, and she can feel the salty tears amongst her cheeks.
She feels a million emotions, she hears billion words, and yet she stays quiet.
She finally gathers the courage to speak and the words that come from her lips are.
“I’m sorry.”
With those words a hurricane is started and children are weeping.
For she believes it is her fault, she believes that her confession is a sin.
The man is finally able to speak and he says.
“Who did this to you? Who hurt you?”
She looks up from the ground and whispers.
“You.”
He stays silent in anger.
“I never hurt you” He whispers.
She feels a weight on her throat as she tries to speak.
“I told you ‘no’, you didn't listen to me.”
He clenches his fist, the same way he had done before.
“You're lying! Just tell me the truth. Who hurt you?” His scream makes the walls shake in fear.
She stands up and speaks once more.
“You.”
The silence is broken, the stillness is gone, and they are being watched.
They are not home; they were brought into some sort of unknown.
They are at a police station.
Her torture is over, for she is saved by a confession.
She is strong but feels alone.
She has lost her safety, she has lost her home.
She is broken.
She is you.


The author's comments:

When people ask why I wrote this, I have more than one answer. I had a friend who told me of her situation when she was sexually assaulted and how the police station felt. I also had a conversation about domestic assault/abuse. So, writing this piece was a combination of inspiration.


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