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Rated: 18+ · Other · Dark · #1431280
Still in progress. An analogy of what the soul feels when it is ravaged to shreds.
The lady's face stung. Knees bruised and stomach grated against concrete, her mud-drenched body writhed- not out of pain, but in response to the injustice. My soul, my soul- wronged. The men slapped her ribs with their iron-toed boots, pulled at her long, dark hair, knotting it around their fists as her head jerked back and forth, her neck and shoulders limp. "WHORE" they shouted. "YOU BITCH. HOW DARE YOU- FILTHY SLIME." "YOU'RE EASY, CHEAP, CHEAP, CHEAP." WHORE. Her nerves shook, but her body was too weak to respond. So her toes twitched, her fingers curled, the only appendages with muscles left to move. They taunted, cursed-FUCKING WHORE-all the while throwing her fetal body around in the dirt. One by one they raped her, grass torn, leaves shaking above their heads. Branches snapped in two-the wind howled. The wind, she raged. A tornado approached. The men ravaged on, pounding their filthy cocks into her torn body, any and every orifice. Silently the animals watched on. An owl, with wise, sad eyes. A fox, scurrying back and forth, anxious for this lady. Trance-like the men raped her, tore at her breasts, broke her skin. Cultish. GIVE ME MORE they shouted. MORE, YOU FUCKING WHORE. YOU BELONG TO ME. YOU BELONG TO M-

A giant ROAR and the mouth was swiped off of the rapists' face, while glistening claws slick with blood flashed in the dull light. The lion had appeared out of nowhere, gnashing his teeth and tearing apart these men who damaged her. They squealed, screamed for pain and terror, trying desperately to run away but trapped by the lion's monstrous presence. His paws pounded in the wet earth, as rain began to pour down from the skies, drenching the forest. She, the wind, beat the trees against her breast, wailing, wailing, demanding to the earth her justice, the water her peace, the fire his passion. She howled, howled, as the lion tore his beloved's foes to shreds, ripping their evil intentions, their false accusations, their unjust words out of her with every limb dismembered. When the lion had arrived, the lady had crawled onto her side, and slid along the forest floor, trying desperately to hide away. While he destroyed her tormentors, she had found a rock under which to hide, where she lay, shuddering, blood trickling from her skin, thorns thrust into her ribcage and thighs from inching across the bare forest floor. Her breath, shallow. Eyes rolled back in her head, she saw swirls of light dancing, causing her head to ache and the tears, locked away, to burn. Too weak, too weak to cry, Her bones were brittle, jutting out from her back, her legs, her elbows. Her skeleton was a frame that hung her skin, and testified to the long nights and days she had been chained to that tree, the tree they locked her to when they stole her away. Faintly her memories beckoned to her, calling from another world, another existence. She could not remember. She could not remember. All she felt was the frigid rock against her bare skin, the twigs in her hair, the clammy sweat and dirt that coated her body. She shivered. A breeze. Warm. Tender. The breeze gently teased her hair back from her face, and nurtured the lady's body, enveloping it in her warm breath. The lady sighed. Exhaled. The roars and screams faded slowly from her ears, and she fell away into a deep rest, cradled by the wind. She did not dream. She was empty.


Time passed. She stirred. awakening from the sleep that had wooed her away. She rolled onto her side, A pool of water, unnoticed, revealed itself. She struggled towards it, desperate to clean herself from the filth of the men who had torn her. As she neared the pool, she noticed a dark stain on her forehead. Slowly, slowly, delicately, she lowered her face over the waters, bringing her hands to carefully rinse her face. Wiping her eyes, she looked again towards her reflection, and saw the letters cut into her forehead- U-N-C-L-E-A-N. She screamed, NO, NO NO NO NONONONONONONONONO- tore at her face, trying desperately to scratch the skin off her forehead, to remove the stain. She could not. Blood poured as she tore at her face, sobbing, wailing. Anything but this. She was marked.

Gradually, her thrashing slowed, and the tears trickled steadily out of her eyes as she slumped over, exhausted. The lady felt her way along the forest floor, eyes crusted shut from the blood and tears shed, finally found her way to a tree stump. She lay against it. Felt for her hair....gone. They had cut it all away. Shame, shame shame. She had nothing now. Nothing. She slept.

Awakened. Surrounded by a golden field of wheat. Displaced. Confused. Where....? She looked down, saw a white wedding dressed attached to her body. Her head hurt. Her bruises were gone. Her hair blew in the breeze....hair? She grabbed it, felt its long, thick waves, and cried. She cried, and cried, and cried, holding her hair, face cradled between her knees, and cried. A fierce breeze flew around her, cooling her warm forehead. She wanted to run away, hide, hide away from this dream, this terrifyingly safe place, it wasn't so, it wasn't so, it wasn't so...she cried and cried and cried. It was too much.

A shadow in the wheat approached her. It blended, golden, with the wheat, and silently approached her. She didn't care. A warm breath on her face, soft, strong body encircled her, laying around her tiny frail body. She buried her face in his mane and sobbed. He held her there as the sun set and the stars slipped into the night sky, hushing her heaving voice, her shaking shoulders. Finally, she stilled. Lay against the solid wall of the animal's ribcage, felt his steady rise and fall of his chest, the rhythmic beat of his powerful heart. She aligned her breaths with his, inhaling deeply, 2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10....and the exhale, 2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10. Calming, calming, shhh.....the stars whispered. Rest, lady, rest. You are safe here. Rest.

She slept deeply through the night.

She had meant well. Meant well. Meant well. And they, not one, could see.
© Copyright 2008 Aerin Cathal (abalieno at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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