Hello my friends! This month I went looking backwards to find a hidden gem from the treasure chest I keep in my dusty attic to share exclusively with you... this short story was inspired by my fascination with the subject of human sexuality which never seems to fade over my many years on this strange earth... Without giving too much away, I like to talk about characters that are a bit on the outside, and who may have experiences that are a little twisted and not exactly pc. You have been warned! I would love to hear your point of view as always as this story could be interpreted a number of ways. How does it speak to you? And now, get comfy, put some eerie music on, and let's get reading!
I can hear her voice close by even though it is muffled and weak: I would recognize it anywhere; it is soft and smooth like a child whispering in the dark trying to appease monsters. She must be doing something she doesn't want anyone to know but she can’t fool me - I know her too well. Sometimes it is like I can hear her thoughts even before she does.
It s cold and dark, I want out now. I have been inside too long, it's beginning to weigh on me. After all, I have done, I think I`d deserve better. I just can’t understand why she would leave me alone after all the words we said, the pacts, the promises, the sweet nothings we exchanged for years. I refuse to believe it all meant nothing to her as if she could forget or think it was all just a crazy dream that was never real, except in her imagination. Whatever her reasons it is unfair and wrong.
The furtive whispering has stopped and now the sound of her breathing is broken only by a gentle rustling of clothes being removed and tossed on the floor like a heap of unwanted garbage. The thought of it worries me. Why is she undressing in the middle of the day? Is she sick? There goes another sigh, but this time it is rougher, not hers. It s like a rasping so deep her vocal cords could never make it. It makes my stomach turn; I have a bad feeling about this. I hope I am wrong.
I can feel the air around me growing stale. I can’t see anything but It smells of worn shoes and sweat, damp walls and mothballs. I haven't moved in so long. I suppose she just expects me to rot in here forever, like an abandoned useless piece of rubbish, happy to have served her well for all that s worth. But that s not going to happen. I am going to get out of these confines and I am going to show her what I am made of.
I can feel a vibration coming from the floor. It s kind of rhythmic and regular and it is making me feel very uneasy. It could mean that something particularly awful (which I rather not think about) is happening but I don t really want to believe it. The only alternative would be that for whatever reason she is not in her right mind. After all, she did close me in here for god knows how long without ever paying a thought to the only one who ever really cared about her so it is possible that she has gone mad.
The deep guttural noises have come back more intensely and the floor s vibrations are increasing by the minute. This is beginning to make me feel nauseous; I am growing restless. I just can’t stand lying here passive just waiting for the inevitable disaster. I was strong when we were together: I could do all sorts of things. Then one day without warning she just tossed me away and for a while, out of sheer shock, I lost the will to live but now I get it: although she has forsaken me I can still draw strength from her because I know that somewhere deep inside she hasn't forgotten.
The breathing has become a moaning and the musky smell is penetrating everywhere. I can feel her calling to me without words, just like she used to so many times before when she needed my comfort. This gives me the energy to push up the heavy lid that has kept me captive till now and as I do my strength comes back in full force and I am free. It is exhilarating being able to finally experience bright light in all its glory and intensity. I had almost forgotten what it was like to feel alive and for a few initial moments I am almost overwhelmed but then I remember the old times when I used to bask in the light of day every day, encircled by her loving arms, cuddled to sleep every night till we both fell into a land of unending dreams. The memory of it gives me a jolt of extra energy and even more resolve to proceed. I can see shadows move somewhere ahead, filtered through the shutters and forming vague silhouettes on the other side. I move towards them and as I do I notice the screen door is ajar so I can just slide through it unseen. She is too busy to notice.
I look up to the bed and with disgust I see her body sprawled naked on it. There is a human mass pounding on top of her, like an obscene beast set to squash her with its weight. The hideous thing is pinning her down, spread out in between her legs leaving her no choice but to whimper like a trapped animal underneath it. The smell is unbelievable, like sewage and honey mixed together with sweat and bad breath. She can t even speak or scream because of its massive hand covering her mouth but it is obvious she is in agony: her eyes are closed and her brow is furrowed and she is breathing hard and fast; she must be too frightened to even open them in case the realization that this is not just a terrible nightmare is too much to take. I feel a surge of rage overpower me. She must have been tricked by false pretexts; she couldn't have possibly given in to such a monster's vile will otherwise. Her naïveté must have been her downfall. It must have been easy for him to betray her into a state of vulnerable submission, eventually leaving her to writhe in vain under his body in a useless effort to escape. Thank god I am here. She need not suffer too much longer at the hand of such a brute.
I move swiftly. I know where to look next. It s lucky she is the tidy type, I always used to find what I was looking for when we lived together and now it's no different. There can be no hesitation so I do what I need to and just get on with it: I crawl behind the desk and find the special drawer where she always kept her craft tools. Quickly I open it and there they are: her sharp fabric scissors. I look behind. They cannot see me. I am too good at this. Before anyone suspects it, I have all I need to put an end to her misery. I climb up the bed and I do what I have to.
Silence. Then a sigh. She hasn't fathomed yet what has happened. But the movement has stopped and she has opened her eyes. Then a scream, arms flailing: she must have just felt the sticky hot liquid suddenly touch her face. She s trying to toss the heavy thing off her and with a little bit of help from me she succeeds. Her hands look like they are wet as well and she doesn't seem to like noticing that. I try to reassure her by climbing in bed with her, like the good old times. She doesn’t seem to feel surprised by my presence. On the contrary I think she feels relieved. I whisper softly in her ear and start to soothe and calm her. She always liked my voice. After a while she stops screaming and I let her hug me. Nobody could ever take care of her like I do but then she always knew that. After a while, her breathing slows down and her tears stop. It must have been terrible to feel so confused as to allow those awful things to happen but I know she is sorry now so I forgive her. I can tell because I can feel her clutch at me just the way she used to. I wish I could smile but my face is fixed. Deep down I always knew she d agree I was right.