It is dark. The lights of her room are switched off. She likes it that way. She’s scared of lights. That is one reason she doesn’t allow anyone to switch it on, in her room. She loves nights now; they allow her the seclusion that she desires earnestly, during the day. She wishes to stay under the blanket forever. Could someone please make that possible for her?


She doesn’t encourage people around her anymore. More so, she hates being touched. It freaks her out and reminds her of that day. That one day, that made her the girl she was now. And that ruined her, to an extent, that she couldn’t even open her eyes for a second without the fear of getting molested.

Yes, she was raped and now she hated all the men on this earth. She wanted to run up to them and kill them; snatch away their soul, the way they had snatched hers; bit by bit. The core of her soul was scarred, forever. And after they had left her abandoned in that isolated place where the heinous crime was committed, she’d somehow gathered the strength to cover herself with whatever was left of her kurta and jeans, draping the stole across her shoulders and over my head in order to hide from the general public.

Rape, it was for the world. For her, her soul had died that day. Humanity had died. And why not? Why and how would she be able to trust the same men who once had left an irreparable mark on her naked body? A mark, that would never be healed, whatever the medicine may be.

She managed to reach home that day, in a dreadful state and headed straight to her room.


On reaching in, she locked it from within. Her mother had seen her coming and must have guessed the horror of the situation that she had been through and thus she did not come to her at once. Only after an hour or so did she gather some courage to walk up to her daughter’s room.

She did open it at one knock but did not speak. What would she tell her mother? What would she talk about? How few people took her life away? How some people, who had no right to touch her, had ruined her? How her daughter was lying on the ground, crying and shouting for help? 


It was useless, she knew and so she stayed silent. Not for once since then did she have a talk with her mother. And her dad did not even have the strength to see her and so, he hasn’t even visited her ever since then that episode.

People hardly visit her home these days. And even if they do, they don’t stay for long; as if she had some sort of communicable disease which would spread. But she likes it. She thought she didn’t deserve to stay alive but somehow was breathing.

Breathing pain, anguish, fear and death, every day. She has no idea how long it will take for her to get over this. Maybe, forever. But for now, she just wants to stay cuddled beneath these sheets that hide her scars, her guilt for having done nothing, her torment and her body which was once meant to be sacred.

Save me, please,
I cry for help;
Rescue me somehow,
Take me away from death.

Photo credit: Amy Messere via Visual Hunt / CC BY-NC-ND

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