She hides in a dark corner, with her unruly tresses revealing an iota of her swelled up eyes, shivering lips and muffled breath. Hope seems to be fading away into the fabric of a distant world, where justice and order rule as efficiently as the rising sun. Her world has been reduced to a bundle of tattered memories that cannot be untangled fully. The wings of the flying butterfly in search of colourful flowers have been cut cruelly, to showcase a less dainty world. After all, her treasure has been stolen, leaving behind the burnt remnants.
She can still feel the hovering hairy hands on her body. The knot in her belly, the choked curse inside her quivering throat, the numbness in her hands: swirl inside her aching memory with the sharpness of thorns. The unforgettable masculine scent, stir up her nostrils now and then. A distant chuckle makes her sit up. Does that emanate pleasure like that of the ones shooting in the air, when the sin was being committed? She starts retreating further, moaning a faint cry with the miniscule energy left in her being. Are her attackers back? The dilemma gives way to blood-curdling sobbing and it seems to be an observable entity of a piece of her tired heart wrapped up in her bosom.
A tray of food arrives with her favourite dishes lighting up the morbid scene. Her mother tries to spoon in a morsel. She coughs up the entire thing. Her appetite is now host to evil, scary thoughts. She needs a few tight embraces for the umpteenth time in the day. Thanks to them, the warmth cools down her cold nervous blood. However, the air doesn’t lie. It reverberates with unashamed wavelengths, that quashing of emotions is currently not the order of the day.