The Silence Speaks by frogbook
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.|
On the sunniest of days, my life changed forever.
He was a friend's uncle, gave us rides home from school. Alone when he asked if I wanted a ride, I declined, but he was so convincing, offers of cool ice cream on a warm day.
I climbed in the truck that turned out to be a hearse, the hearse that took my youth to be buried.
Ten years later, I sit in this filthy room, wearing chains. I no longer feel their weight. Memories fade. An hour of panic one day trying to remember my mother's face, finally able to conjure up her twinkling eyes.
Mustn't go to a sad place, for today, I will show my captor my true feelings. He's tried to make me love him. Though I have pretended at times, for my safety, I have nothing but loathing for this animal, he disgusts me, repels me in every fiber. I HATE HIM.
He doesn't know about dropping his knife two days ago, the last time I saw him. Though weak from hunger, the dirty cup of water empty, I must stay strong. My heart pounds as I hear the front door open, footfalls on the stairs.
He comes in with a bag of greasy fast food like he is bringing me a great gift.
"What will you give me for this, my sweet girl?"
Forcing a smile, I say, "Come see," with seductive eyes.
Idiot falls for it, after all the years I have fought him.
"Finally appreciating me? Feeling feisty?"
The words crawl over me like bugs, but I hold one free arm out to him. He throws down the bag and comes to me, puts his hands on me.
The knife slides into his flesh easier than I thought. He is so surprised, I have time to pull it out and strike the second blow. He slowly falls to the bed and I can't stop stabbing.
I finally stop, I wretch, push him aside, use the knife to reach out and pull the bag to me. I take a large bite of greasy hamburger and begin laughing.
When I finally stop, I quietly eat the rest of the food.
Though I have thought of this in advance, I am afraid. What if no one finds me and I die here alone, a rotting corpse for a bedmate?
He told me if anyone comes to rescue me, they die. I longed to call to the nice-looking man next door, but have never dared, not knowing when my jailer would return.
Now I begin hollering at the top of my lungs.
Darkness falls. The house is silent.
Exhausted, I hang my head. Suddenly, the silence speaks.
"Miss? Is there someone here?"
A light on the stairway, another floods my room. I wonder what the kind neighbor thinks of the gory scene, suddenly embarrassed at my own filth.
"Jesus!" is all he can say.
"I don't think he's here," I say. "But then again, maybe he is."
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