The following article contains content about sexual abuse that may trigger an anxiety response in some readers.
The gun to her head, though loaded, did not discharge. He choked her. Crack. Imagine hearing your neck snap and believing that the shadowy figure, the path to no return to your physical form, had come to take you. You envision yourself lying on the white, soft lining in the brown or white box, where maggots would soon have their way, slowly turning you to dust. Or, perhaps, if it is your preference or for religious purposes, it is fire that turns you to ashes.
She was eighteen when she met him. He was almost forty. Often the charm of an older man flatters a damsel. He was moneyed and began helping her to develop herself and those gestures assured her of love, while he waited like she was his young virgin bride for whom a generous dowry had been paid.
Eventually at twenty, though warned about his “bad” character, her heartbeats were like tiny drums playing sensual melodies in between the thoughts and smiles inspired by him. It was time. Anyone who has ever been in love can testify about the euphoria one experiences when he or she has found the courage to unreservedly expose oneself to another person. But perhaps if she had listened to the warnings about his character or had dreamed about the terror that was to come, she would have escaped the segments of his insanity.
