Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site

Horrors of Nightfall

Script By: James Collins

An ordinary woman on the outside, a shell of a person inside.

Submitted:Dec 17, 2013    Reads: 49    Comments: 0    Likes: 1   

Every night, it's the same thing. He comes to bed after the basketball game and a can or two of beer. He mutters some semblance of a goodnight and strips down into just his boxers, then pulls back the sheets on his side of the bed and melts against the silkiness of the sheets. She's on her side, riding the edge of the bed, praying their skin doesn't touch. She's made it her prerogative to be showered and in the bed by the time the game is over. She's showered in record time before, when the game is finishing quicker than she anticipated. She can't be nude around him, she refuses to. He's more a stranger now than a husband and the mere thought of his eyes grazing over her intimate parts makes her shiver in fear and disgust.

Every night, it's the same thing. Half an hour passes, his breath hasn't regulated. He slowly moves his body, smelling of cheap beer and cologne over to the edge of her side. His meaty, muscular arms slide around her thin, curvy waist. She doesn't move. She knows not to anymore. It's routine now. He slowly pulls her back from the edge, keeps her from going over. He places her body against his and hisses out air that stinks of lust, arousal, manliness. The couple stays like that for a few minutes, his body becoming more aroused by the second. She's aware of every inch of him, her heart slamming against slightly compressed rib cages. She's not excited about what is to come, but she's ready for it. Her eyes become glued to the clock, internally counting, wishing, willing the minutes to pass until she can escape into the unconscious where this man cannot disturb her.

Every night, it's the same thing. Her husband pulls her night gown up to her navel, his thick fingers slipping under the tight elastic of her underwear. The digits move sneakily down her thigh before taking a detour to explore what the thighs are guarding. She tenses, eyes closed as she prays to every god out there that he'll lose interest and go to sleep. She prays for a miracle that has yet to come; Prays that something will interrupt this routine so that she can have a peace of mind not yet experienced. She feels his animalistic growls in his chest and he kisses her neck, her shoulder. She feels the deception he possesses deep within him when he mutters a husky, "I love you" as the animal in him slowly takes over.

Every night, it's the same thing. She's exposed to the world as he pulls her coverings off, making his presence known by hovering over her. His eyes are glazed with happiness, as if he's not aware of the pain he's causing to her. He bends down and gives her a kiss, a kiss that betrays everything it should mean-security, love, joy, peace, enjoyment. She winces as he connects them, makes them one as he did on their wedding night. She no longer knows the man she married; no longer sure he knows who she is. She feels him moving with purpose, reassuring himself that what he's doing is right with phrases like, "I love you" and "Don't you love me?" His voice is desperate, seeking approval from a woman who has long since classified him as a monster. He's not aware of his monstrosity, not aware that this pleasure he has found is the pain she must endure.

Every night, it's the same thing. He spills he seed deep within her, and, like a lumbering bear seeking a place to hibernate, stumbles to his side of the bed and curls up. He leaves her cold, desolate, scared. She's a shell of who she once was, a once happy woman, with a happy life and a happy husband. No longer blessed with such things, she prays, prays, prays. She prays for death, prays for a day when he won't return, won't hurt her in a way no one can see. She prays for a time where she can feel sacred again, feel pure and clean. She seeks nothing more than happiness. The happiness that she once had, she once felt is now merely a dream, a part of history that she yearns to return to.

Every night, it's the same. She curls up into a ball, one where no one can enter. She doesn't let anyone in the fortress she's built. She closes her eyes, tunes out the thunderous snoring from the monster and her bed and prays. She prays. She prays that her eyes never have to see another day, that her heart doesn't have to suffer another break, and that her body doesn't have to take more abuse. She prays for the best thing she could think of-death.


| Email this story Email this Script | Add to reading list


About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.