cantfindanytitlenametowrite

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is the first thing Ive ever written, so I was really just experimenting. Those who read my bio, know why. Please comment as you please.
Thanks.

Submitted: February 25, 2009

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Submitted: February 25, 2009

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TWISTED
 
The woman sobbed quietly as she lay on the cold, hard ground, vulnerable and engulfed in darkness. Her naked, scarred body shook uncontrollably with violent spasms as she continued to cry.
Her thighs throbbed where her husband struck her only a while back, and the soles of her feet were inflamed, with most of the tissue burnt. They were hot, where the rest of her body was cold. She went quiet as she struggled to fight off a wave of nausea.
He hadn’t left her clothes to cover her body with. He never did.  
He discarded her as though she were nothing, after shattering her healing dignity to pieces once again.
She heard a sound, and at once quieted down. It was time.
She looked up as a gleam of bright light caught her by surprise, coming from the door. She shielded her eyes from the light, but not before getting a glimpse of the silhouette of a man making his way inside to the corner where she lay.
The man was one of her husband's. She was going to be forced to endure complete humiliation once again, this time with an audience…
 
The man, who she had been seeing ever since her first wedding night, roughly picked her up, still in her state of sheer nudity, and all but pushed her out the door.
Once they were out, the bright light shone on his face, making him uglier, and scarier, than he had been inside. His ugly sneer was visible to her now.
She was not going to be spared any misery tonight; the routine wouldn’t be any different.
As they approached the all-too-familiar door, she sucked in a shaky breath, trying to calm herself, and keep from breaking down. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her terror.
The man opened the door, and when she raised her head to see what awaited her this time, she was greeted by a room filled with drunken men, all her husband's friends. They were six in total.
Her husband's servant threw her inside the room, and then went inside to join the rest.
As she looked at the sadistic, leering faces before her, she prayed to God it would all be over quickly.
The men were now seven.
 
"I'm with child." the once pretty woman whispered to the darkness.
The last seven years of her life made her look much too old, made her hair gray at the temples, made her back hunch in dejection. It made the black under her eyes vivid, the red in her eyes bloodshot. Her mouth hadn’t smiled in seven years, ever since her parents left her in this hell-on-earth mansion. She was almost bony; as severe depression prevented her from indulging in and tasting the food she was given. Her once spring-sky blue eyes that lit with happiness, now resembled the aftereffects of a severe storm. Her skin was pasty white, and her greasy, mousy brown hair hung drab on her shoulders.
Yet now, as she acknowledged the undeniable truth, a mild weight lifted off her shoulders. Her husband had wanted a son. When she tells him of her pregnancy, he would minimize his beatings, if not stop them.
Her weary lips twitched, as though in an attempt to smile. Now all she had to do was pray to the Lord that he give her a son.
She didn’t want her daughter suffering the life she did, as she would if her father did not kill her.
 
Seventeen years later, the woman lay on the same ground, once again sobbing. Seventeen years of her life hadn’t changed anything. The last she remembered feeling a little safe was that time, a long time ago, when she has been carrying her child.
What good that had brought her.
She remembered vowing to protect the child with her life, to give him all the love she had kept inside her for most of her life.
She wouldn’t think about it. The hurt was unbearable. The utter betrayal was much too raw.
Her husband had died a year back, in a boating accident while away with his friends. She wasn’t cruel, but all she felt in reaction to the news was relief. That day, a year ago, she almost looked like her old self again. Then, on the same night, reality came crushing on her again as she realized the routine would only be continued after he husband's passing.
How did the saying go? Like father, like son?
That night, a year ago, she had lived the truth of that saying.
That night, a year ago, her son, whom she could have sacrificed her life for, beat her, just as his father did. He didn’t care she was his mother. He didn’t care that she loved him with all her heart, even with that first whipping to her back. She had brought him to this world, she couldn’t, wouldn’t stop loving him.
 
  When she snuck that knife from the battered kitchen, she was too numb to care about what she was doing.
 
Even when later that night, she took a knife to her son's heart, she still loved him… So much that it hurt.
It hurt so much that she took her life with him too. Nothing could be worse than living what she lived. She survived the worst, and now she would die content.


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