The dawn of captivity

A Story by Tasia

As I walked slowly out of the damp , dark passageway that carried the hideously displeasing amalgamation of urine and blood, I remembered...

I was a young, awkward fifteen-year-old girl with no friends, no self-confidence and no sex-appeal. Or so I thought.

I had thin, twig-like legs and even thinner arms. I had the height and posture of a thirteen-year-old boy and an unimaginably fickle character.

I had never had anyone who wasn't written off as anything less than insane seek my attention and therefore, never expected any romance in life, especially not in my teenage years.

I woke up one cold, rainy morning to a suspicious stranger hovering over me. As I was about to open my mouth to release the multitude of fear-stricken questions and accusations that had formed in my mind the moment I awoke, he swiftly placed his unattractively large lips over mine.

Before I could even struggle out of his grip, he had already forced his large features over me, rendering me completely powerless and feeling beyond helpless.

I absolutely hated having to surrender to unwanted intimacy. The disgust of being subjected to it and the inexplicable feeling of inescapable captivity washed over me again and again.

I then experienced the anger that was fuelled by the hatred of my physical weakness and lack of emotional security. I felt filthy. It was all I felt and remembered. I was completely disengaged from any memory before that moment.

I had the most sickly view of myself. I wanted nothing more than to remove myself from myself. I wanted nothing more than death itself.

However, the anger and self-loathing soon turned into an urge. an urge to avenge my secret pride.

In every waking moment, that urge developed further and further into a hateful, monstrous being within me. I could barely recognise my own thoughts. The monster in me wanted to inflict unending pain, to kill, to spill blood.

I let that monster consume my mind and dictate my actions. All she wanted to do was destroy the instrument of her unending pain and irrevocable humiliation. My mindset developed into one of a stalking serial killer.

I was well-prepared. I found myself in possession of a wide range of weaponry. I decided that a handy pocket-knife would be suitably subtle to sneak upon an unsuspecting pervert.

I followed him to a bar one night. One with seriously awful security for an alcoholic domain. I waited and watched as any successful stalker would. He was usually one of the last drunks to leave.

And as the crowd got heavier and then thinner just after three am, I focused on my target. Then I, with all my might, thrust the knife into him again and again, determined not to let him recover or retaliate - reminding him of the feeling he so generously gave to me.

I then knew the misery of a criminal life, the dawn of captivity.