The Rape of a Stranger

How a person may end up coping with the burdens brought on to them through no fault of their own, and how tragedy affects them.

Cool wind danced through her still features, if only for a moment, as she passed into the alley. It was dark, as are most of these haunted features of city infrastructure that captivated the imaginations of those unaccustomed to their hidden depths, and she had to be careful to avoid stepping onto a mouse or a rat as she explored this tunnel of known secrecy and decay.

Her once charming features had been ransacked by age and malcontent long ago, or perhaps only moments ago. She had long since forgotten and it had been a long while since time had been a primary concern.

She played with the idea in her mind, savoring its bitter taste and the moment's cool embrace; the stillness of her surroundings, and the calm assurance in her heart. She had spent much of her new life looking for this tunnel that others, more fortunate than her, had walked by countless times before, not caring to give its dark, shadowy presence much of a thought unless you brought them to the edge of its entrance.

This tunnel had been her necessary obsession. She fought to reach its gloom, and sought the entrance with, at times, a conscious and unconscious determination, though she did so if only because she was led there by another that had overpowered her for a moment in time with brute force and deception, then continued to own her for a long while after he had left her; carving a slice of her memory out for himself. Time she would later consider foul and she may or may not consider it wasted; the outcome awaiting further consideration, as she had yet to determine whether this loss had strengthened her, like steel battered upon an anvil, or weakened her, like a snapped sword.

She further plunged herself into the cave, feeling along the rocky walls to support her passage. Through the pitch of blackness that was vision, she made out voices of others along the way. Not a singular voice like it was one person playing with her mind, but a chorus of different tones, inflections, and accents that brought to mind the variety of backgrounds, both male and female, both dark and light, both hard and soft, singing such sorrowful lamentations that took hold upon her, as a spell or possession might have done. Their voices carried along notes of their own lives that she would reflect upon later, after her journey had come to an end and she was left with herself once more.

Troubled though she was, she continued down her path until she reached her end. She saw the still body of the one stranger that had held such manipulative control on her life. It was through his fault that she had eventually come to this alley, only to be left staring at his dead form. After having seen this, she turned around and left him there, and when she stepped out of her cave that had been the alley, she welcomed the rain that had blossomed forth from the clouds.

Author's Note

This was my first story outside of school work that I really opened up to criticism. That said, I welcome your own. I'm not quite sure what else I could warn you of, but I hope you enjoyed; if even just a little.

Reviews

[Delmar Cooper]

There is no certainty in this writing and no vigor; it is tentative. The narrator explores contradictory options, but never chooses one. Too many words are used to show too little action.