WARNING: My tale is a disturbing one. It is not for the faint hearted - but it does end with hope. It is inspired by a true story I read a few year ago about a woman who survived being sex trafficked. It's what I thought of when I first saw this picture. Yes, I know, my mind can get very dark. Sometimes it's best not to follow me down here.
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Freedom
She taps
the crack in the glass, hoping it will get bigger, hoping it will open out and
maybe a hole will form. If she breaks it completely she might have a chance.
She looks round the room, but there is nothing there to help her; it’s empty
apart from the blood stained mattress - her blood. She looks at it and feels
the sore spots it came from. Sore spots she knows are going to be reopened
soon.
If only
there was some kind of implement, but they never leave anything. They bring
what they use. She stops that thought there. She can’t think about it, she has
to block it. If she thinks about it she will scream and cry and won’t be able
to stop. She remembers what happened to the girl in the next room who did that.
She wants to live. She wants to get out of here. She wants to return to her
life. She wants to never go on a blind date again. Never meet someone that no
one else knows. Never believe that after three dates they must be trustworthy.
Was anyone even looking for her?
She hears a
noise in the room next door. They brought in another girl last night. They’re breaking
her in. Another one that doesn’t sound like she’ll survive long. She’s stronger
than the others, but if she wasn’t strong she’d be dead - like the one they
dragged past her room several days ago. They’d left her door open deliberately.
She thought
back to the first time they left her door open. She’d tried to get out.
Foolish. They played cat and mouse with her, giving her hope, then taking it
away. She’s learnt. But it gave her a sense of the house: size, how many others
and how many men using them.
This
thought jolts her back into action. She taps harder on the crack - the sounds
from next door motivating her. She hears the screaming start and then that
guttural noise which tells her the new girl might not last long. She resists
the tears and sick feeling in her stomach. She puts her upset into what she is
doing.
She pushes
the glass and the crack spreads. She keeps pressure on the centre point and
more cracks appear. A small piece in the middle falls out. It tumbles. She
knows she’s two storeys up. She knows this area hasn’t recovered from the civil
war and most of the neighbouring houses are empty. She’s going to have to run a
long way.
Her breath
quickens, she’s created a hole as big as her head now. The noise from next door
is covering the sound of the glass shifting. More pieces fall out. Her fingers
are bleeding, but it’s nothing compared to the other wounds she has.
A larger
piece falls out and smashes below. She holds her breath and waits. If they find
this she’s not sure she’ll survive the punishment. She doesn’t hear footsteps;
she only hears the grunts and torturous screams from next door.
She climbs
out onto the windowsill. She sees a drainpipe next to the window. She shuffles
to it, shards of glass embedding in her knees. She pulls at the pipe, it
doesn’t move. She dares to put her weight on it. It holds. She starts moving
down to the ground, until it is close enough to jump.
Her heart
is in her throat, the noise of it hammering in her ears. She lands heavily. The
shock makes her pause. She hears nothing but the wind. She stands, testing her
legs - then she runs.
She
convinces herself she can hear shouts and men running after her, but at every
glance back she sees nothing. She runs through the empty streets past derelict
houses. She wants to get on the other side of the hills behind the ruined town.
She’d had weeks to work out a route from the window.
She reaches
the hills and clambers up and over them, adrenaline still feeding her. She sees
another town in the distance. She sees lights as dusk draws in. It’s populated.
She’ll find sanctuary there. But for now she must stop and rest. She finds a
cove hidden by trees. She pushes herself in it and sits, exhausted, shivers
running through her as the fear loosens its grip. She’s free. And soon the
others will be too.
You and your silly pictures. Always disturbing my calm. :) Me and my silly brain cells that I don't understand at all. Here. Figure this one out.
ReplyDeleteSomeday I Can Say The Words
But you write such wonderful touching, heartfelt stories Mark. I love it. Thanks for joining in.
DeleteBrilliant prompt and answers - here is mine
ReplyDeleteThe Hitch
Posted on April 12, 2018 by ailsaabrahamwp
https://purplequeennl.blogspot.fr/2018/04/mid-week-flash-challenge-week-50.html
All my life I had felt disadvantaged, alien, as if I were staring in at humanity through a pane of glass, isolated and only pretending to understand or join in.
You’ll imagine my self-disgust when I discovered that it wasn’t a feeling…I really WAS behind a pane of glass, watching, waving but not participating.
Spending my usual amount of time on reflection and fore-thought, I drew back my elbow and then let fly, breaking the glass, smashing a face-sized hole in it. Finally I could poke my nose through and peer at what I had only ever seen through it. I could smell Life. Sounds I had only imagined I was hearing finally made their way through to my brain.
My heart leaped within me at the thought of enlarging the hole, climbing through and finally participating in life completely. Finally being able to speak to other people real face to real face…touch being genuine touch, sight being clear…but of course there was a price. There always is. The glass had been easy to smash with my hand-knit covered elbow but now it was like solid iron. If I wanted to make the hole bigger it would rip my hands to pieces.
I could go through and out into the real world…but at what cost? My life? Would I do it?
Ooo, that's good, I like that. Thanks for joining in.
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