..the storm..

I’m in this place again. It’s dark here, and cold. It’s loud, what is that sound?

Wrath, fire, wind silently penetrating my ears, my soul.

It hurts everywhere. I hurt.

There is a rough wooden chair, I am sitting in it, my wrists are bound cruelly with leather straps to the ridged arms of the chair. The straps tear at the delicate flesh covering the fragile bones of my wrist. I can’t move.

Oh please no…

He’s here with me.

I can smell his musty odour, sex and sweat and hatred.

I’m not going to die. I will not die. I don’t want to die.

I feel something gently touching the tips of my toe.. It’s a liquid.

Why is he watching me? I cant see his eyes. I’m tired.

It’s cooling now, the liquid. It’s pooling near my right foot. I don’t want to touch it.

I’m so frightened.

Help me.


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