December 7, 1935

Tears of joy fall from my eyes. Why? I have killed, maimed, broken, and by God, I am proud.

You were young and naïve; nothing but a child.  The fault is not yours, rather the criminal who committed these unspeakable crimes against you.

 

Bang. 

 

The gavel falls with a finality that shakes you to the very bone.

Is this really the

 

E

N

D

???????

 

You will never know an end in your

 

H e a r t  o f  h e a r t s

 

Because he will never relinquish his vicious hold on you.

 

His hands tighten around your neck, and your pulse jumps like a startled jack rabbit.

Over and over again.

Rough fingers

Roaming.

Touching you

Hurting you.

 

You scream.  You scream, and scream, and scream.

 Pleading, begging, grief dripping steadily down your cheeks, you are the picture of innocence

 

B R O K E N.

 

:MB:

 

The jury shuffles their papers absentmindedly.

Old ladies with bright red lipstick.

Men with wrinkles carved like fault lines down aged faces.

Weathered, but not broken, you think.

Not like you.

 

You sit frozen in your hard chair, your broken fingernails

P I e r c I n g

The flesh of your forearms, creating small, half-moon indentations.

You stare in wonder at the people all around you, those who have decided your fate, and you are simply

Astonished.

 

Everyday, they see people like you. 

 

Broken.

Healing.

Bleeding.

 

And each day, they either condemn or save, all the while staring noncommittally through that glass barrier separating you and them.

 

That merciful pane of rendered glass, the only thing protecting them from withering (dying, drowning, fading)

beneath the

Pain

That you suffer

 

Every

Single

Day.

 

:MB:

 

With tears in your azure eyes,

You exit the court room.  You can feel

Something

Building inside you, but you don’t know what.

 

(You have no idea how to release the monster growing within you).

 

You can hear your parents calling your name, screaming for you to wait.

 

Are you okay?

What can I do?

Oh sweetie, oh my love, I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.

 

Any other day, you would have smiled sweetly, you would have revealed those pearly whites, and you would have pretended that you weren’t

 

Dying

 

I

N

S

I

D

E

 

Not this time.

 

You turn to face them

 

(in the middle of the street)

 

You do not care anymore.  Not about them.  Certainly not about yourself. 

 

(Spun gold hair, flying in the wind).

 

A scream escapes your burgundy lips, and for just a second, it feels

Good.

 

(Better than anything has felt, {Since him}).

 

As suddenly as the flood of pleasure invades your senses, it is gone.

 

(Was it ever really there?)

 

In it’s place, he lies in wait.

You can feel him in every pore of your being,

Each breath you take is saturated,

Every step one step closer

To Him.

 

Suddenly it’s not about emotion or sentiment, it’s all

Pain.

You cannot feel anything but the delicious bite of a knife here, teeth there.

Your mind is no longer yours.  It is just as corrupted and soiled as the broken body that you once called your own.

No more.  No more.

 

Sharp as breaking glass

Slow as melting chocolate

More painful than anything you have ever felt.

 

(Than anything you will ever feel).

 

He has become you, and unwittingly,

 

You have become him.

 

:MB:

 

The next day dawns bright.  Rays of sun shine through your window; their beauty blinding you.  You should not bear witness to such beauty

 

(You do not deserve it.)

 

You stretch your arms above your head, and you can’t help but feel that this just isn’t real.

For three years, you suffered.  Screaming.  Bleeding.

B R E A K I N G.

And now, you are home.  All thanks to a stray dog and a box of rancid chocolate.  You lay in your bed, the same bed that has cradled your body for years, yet you feel like an intruder, an

Invader in

Somebody else’s world.

 

It’s been, what, two months since Lassie moseyed in to your pathetic excuse for a life, and saved you?

 

(Saved you from what?  There is nothing to be rescued from, love.  Nothing at all to fear).

 

You go through your days pretending that nothing is wrong. 

You can sense the worried looks of your parents, the feverish whispers behind your back.  They worry.

 

(It’s all for love.  You know it is).

 

That doesn’t make it any less insipid.  Why do they try at all? 

You wonder about it when you lie awake at night. 

 

It’s all futile, you think (as the tears pour down your cheeks), no one can possibly liberate you from the prison you are caged in. 

 

He may not be here with you right

 now, but you can  f e e l  him.

 

(You swear it).

 

It does not matter how old you become, how many years

 

P

A

S

S

 

you by.

 

He will always own you. 

 

Not out of viciousness (?)

Not out of malice (……)

Not but for the  s I m p l e   r e a s o n  that

 you will never find the strength to

leave him.

 

No amount of sweet words and soft complacencies can protect you from the truth.

 

(In the end, it is all you have).

 

:MB:

 

You twiddle your thumbs nervously in your lap. 

The woman sitting across from your is large.  Not fat, simply great; imposing.

You feel yourself shrink. 

 

As soon as those first words leave her overly lipsticked mouth, your eyes are glazed, your ears closed to all sound.

 

How old were you when you were taken?  Can you describe your feelings at the moment you knew what was happening?

 

Anger slices through you, as rich as caramel, yet curiously fluffy, like angel food cake.  You are suddenly astonished at how this terrible emotion can make you feel so

Happy.

 

It fills you up.

 

up

uP

UP

 

Until you can’t feel anything but this rush of crimson

T e a r I n g

Through you, destroying all inhibition lying in its path. 

 

You want to scream at this terrible excuse for a human being sitting in front of you

 

(Judging you from her comfortable chair).

 

 

You JUMP to your feet, sparks flying from your narrowed eyes, your hair crackling with fire.

 

As your mouth opens, you can feel the wild emotions that served as your thought process leave you in a flash of white light,

blinding

you.

 

Images  f l a s h  behind your eyelids, and you have never in your life

 wished more fiercely then you did just then for a fat, overly made-up woman with a scowl on her paunchy face.

 

Anything but this, you think. 

 

Anything but this.

 

:MB:

 

Your room  (his room) is cold.  Too cold for the sandy cage he has ensconced you within.

You clutch the thin sheet closer to your thin body, desperately wishing for something warm .  

Anything, you pray, anything at all.

 

(Be careful what you wish for, little girl).

 

The door to the room bursts open, and you feel yourself curl into a tiny ball.

Your eyes are closed.  Your mind blank. 

You can feel a scream building in your throat, but if there’s anything you have learned in your time here, it is that weakness is like a drug to him.

He feeds on it, revelling in its pleasure, happiness outpoured,  as it strengthens him.

 

(You only wish your weaknesses strengthened you, too).

 

Blood seeps from the wounds on your damaged body, new and old. 

Iron settles into you, filling you with ice, and you cannot escape.

You fight, struggle, scream and cry. 

Please, PLEASE!

 

A wild, ecstatic laugh escapes him, and you can simply

F e e l

The mirth  p o u r  out of him.

 

As surely as twisted, perverted happiness fill him,

Your own heart is bursting with a hate more potent than you have ever felt.

 

Before you can even understand what you’re doing, the butter knife from the bedside table is sticking out of his chest, and you can

Feel his black blood staining you as it gushes from his ruined body.

(Just as ruined as yours).

 

A laugh escapes you as granite tears carve paths down your limestone face.

Clutching the beautiful knife in your bloody hand, you look to the heavens,

 a beatific smile  p a I n t e d  across your abused face.

 

…………………………………………

 

You scream.

Author's Note

Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.