Her jaw was sopping wet with blood and sêmen. Her hair, a grove of impossible-to-untangle knots, mussed up senseless from the endless hours it had taken the burly, seedy-looking men in coercing their way into never-never land in between her thighs.

Rivulets of sweat streamed plentifully down her child-like face. Child-like for she was indeed only a child, who but yesterday had been abubble with life and promise.

A ravishing rainbow she was, and her seeming an enrapturing quiver, assailing all who beheld it with its arrows of lustful passion.

Little wonder the city men always thought her older than she actually was. Who could blame them? She looked every inch an adult, and the corpse of her adolescence had almost decayed into voluptuous womanhood. In reality, she had but seventeen naïve years of earthly existence under her virginal belt. Well, at least it used to be virginal until today.

Her body had been pillaged for what seemed a thousand hours, her body which she prided as the temple of God had been converted into a bowling alley. And as the last of her seven attackers dismounted her, she felt used and sore all over. Her soul was broken, and her will to live blown to irreparable shards.

Her mien although seemingly placid was only a veneer, for beneath that calm façade was a heart palpitating with unbridled ferocity. Her lips were parched. Her lungs were inflamed. And her chest singed unbearably as pricklings of guilt terrorised the seat of her conscience.

Guilt soon yielded to self-blame, inducing a flurry of questions to undulate wildly through the fevered quagmire of her groggy brain.

Was she not the cause of her own predicament? Had she not unwittingly been the architect of her rape? How would she ever face her parents and friends?

She was lost in the hubbub in her agitated mind, and didn't hear one of her assailants speak.

“Are you deaf?”, the yellow-teethed man barked, a twinge of irritation marking his cadence.
“I said get dressed, you little whøre!. I have had enough of your pretty cünt already.”

“Yes sir”, Sarah cooed timidly, causing the man's face to spread into an impish grin.
She had proved a tough nut when he and his henchmen had first seized her. Seeing her now all chastened and submissive gave his ego all kinds of lip-smacking sensations.

The yellow-teethed man drew her close until her wiry frame was hugging his gangling body. He groped her sêmen-streaked buttocks, circled his tongue on the scruff of her neck, and started to sniff her in the manner a rottweiler would do to a crime scene, his arid breath repulsing her every sweat pore.

He slalomed his hands upward and bullied her breasts with his calloused fingers, then he whispered gravelly into her ears, “Listen carefully, you cüm-gallon. You are to go home now and pretend none of these ever happened. Breathe a word of this to even your shadow, and I will find you and choke you to death. Are we clear?”.

“Yes sir”, Sarah responded, hot, fat tears already welling up in the corner of her eyes.

With that the yellow-teethed demon shook her violently for good measure, pushed her to the floor, and called out to the other six men who had also partaken in the shameful deed.

If Sarah's ears worked correctly, she thought she heard the yellow-teethed vermin telling the other six men to expect their payment the next day.

Few minutes later, Sarah was out on the streets. Her legs felt rubbery, and each step they took was more difficult than the previous one. It was as if the anchors of the Titanic ship were chained to her feet.

Her assailants had comandeered her purse and her cellphone, so she'd either have to rely on a stranger's generosity if she was to make it home, or she'd have to walk a long distance.

It definitely had to be Scorpion. Scorpion must have been behind this. She recalled declining his romantic overtures on several occasions. The last time had turned out a contretemps. She had slapped him in the campus's piazza when he touched her in improper places despite her warnings that he backed off. He had collared her, vowing to have his pound of flesh in due time.
He was the campus thug, perhaps even a cultist, and in hindsight she knew she ought to have been less haughty, and more prudent in her dealings with him.

Details of the recent events replayed over and over in Sarah's head as she walked.
She could still feel the bouquet of rough hands on her flesh, and the tobacco-laced breath of her assailants baptising her skin.

She could still hear their loud outcry of triumph everytime any of them had orgäsmed in her, she could still feel the indignities suffered, the haunting image of her face pressed into the sofa as one of the ripped men rammed brutally into her from behind.

Mere thinking of this made the ache in her skull thrum even more forcefully, her thoughts drowning helplessly in the seething maelstrom.

Where was God when she had needed him the most? He who she had served with wholehearted gusto. He who she had foregone many a pleasures for his sake.

She'd spurned all the world's many allures. She never drank alcohol, and the feel of cigarettes were a stranger to her lips. She'd boycotted many of the campus bacchanalia she'd been invited to. She'd also been steely in her determination to not engage in premarital sex, and thus had regarded the advances of men as smokes pluming out of godless chimneys.

She had her eyes set only on one goal—a university certificate. A university certificate was her ticket out of the backwaters of poverty, and her pass into the gold-paved boulevards of affluent society. For this reason she'd been married to her studies, and honeymooned for countless hours in the school's library.

Why then had God allowed this great evil to befall her? Why?...

Even as she trudged the streets, she felt filthy. She felt nâked and vulnerable. Or maybe she was just paranoid. Paranoid the market women knew she had just been raped. Paranoid the harried traders were aware of what fate had dealt her some hours ago. And as she flicked a glance at the thrash bin on the wayside, she could have sworn she saw a rat with blood-shot eyes looking her askance. Great!. Even the rodents knew.

As Sarah neared the overhead bridge, a voice piped up from the depths of the waters, “Come, my child. Come, and I shall give you peace”.

An invisible hand steered her toward the rails of the bridge. Her left leg went up first, then she levered her right foot onto the platform until she was standing precariously on the brink of a watery demise.

A gasp or two escaped the clenched teeth of the bystanders who sensed what she was about to do. The market women went into a tizzy. The traders paused to observe. Even the rat with blood-shot eyes stopped in its tracks, its rodent gaze fixed intently on her.

Sarah stretched her hands, and raised her head in silent worship to the giant ball of solar energy above. She drew in a breath and muttered a wordless prayer. And before the market women, or the traders, or the rat could dissuade her, she jumped into the lagoon with gay abandon.

A loud SPLASH was heard...

The market women wailed. The traders shook their heads in pity. Even the rat with blood-shot eyes shimmied out of the bin and padded off into a nearby gutter, eager to go regale his friends with the latest tragedy in the world of humans.

But below the furore on the bridge, somewhere deep in the still waters, Sarah had found the peace she sought...a faint smile lingering on her lifeless face. A bigger smile even on the faces of the fishes swimming avidly toward their unexpected supper.

THE END.

DarkRebel101:
Please, it's impossible to give everybody a mention, so whoever reads this should kindly pass a comment. Both appraisal and constructive criticism would be equally appreciated.

Thanks.

I wanna take time to read this...

Why does it have to be short .

It would have been a really cool 'looooong' story

DarkRebel101:


Please, do.

Lemme cc SmellingAnus.. He likes Literature as well.

TrapQueen77:




Lemme cc SmellingAnus.. He likes Literature as well.

I am following the story... It's cool...

lovelygurl:
Why does it has to be short .

It would have been a really cool 'looooong' story

I love short things.

Hollup, hollup, hollup, This is all? .

Nice story. I love that you were (super) descriptive I could almost feel Sarah's pain.

But

I'm not satisfied, at all

cc:Lleigh
Jagugu88li
Adesina12
creeza
skarlett
bibijay123

DarkRebel101:



Why aren't you satisfied. Expound on your dissatisfaction, please.

It's too short .

I'll like to add something else but lemme re-read it again(just to make sure i'm not exaggerating).

DarkRebel101:
Why aren't there any constructive criticism, or even any commentary at all?

Did I waste my precious time by posting this piece on this forum?

I have stopped reading in the middle because the clarity and poignancy of your words made me almost vomit.
You have described the experience of rape so vividly that I could not read any further because it felt like I was experiencing it myself even though, fortunately, I never have. You are one of the best writers, world-class.

swann:




It's too short .

[s]I'll like to add something else but lemme re-read it again(just to make sure i'm not exaggerating).

[/s]

I think i'll swallow my words

DarkRebel101:
Why aren't there any constructive criticism, or even any commentary at all?

Did I waste my precious time by posting this piece on this forum?

Seen it.

swann:
Hollup, hollup, hollup, This is all? .

Nice story. I love that you were (super) descriptive I could almost feel Sarah's pain.

But

I'm not satisfied, at all

cc:Llei gh
Jag ugu88li
Adesi na12
cree za
sk arlett
bibijay 123

I'm here dear. Its a really short and interesting piece, Michael and his wicked combination of imagery and mixed metaphors is to die for . You should teach me how you do it. I really can't wait to see more stories from Darkrebel101.

Wow......That was something

Jeez I actually felt my skin crawl and could not help but feel what she felt! I think it's a masterpiece and save for it being soo short I don't think I would change any thing!!

DarkRebel101:


My work was grossly underappreciated.

Instead of constructive critic, ninjas just kept droning on about how the piece is as short as the size of my cøck. As if to say length is directly proportional to quality. They should take lessons from Leo Messi—short, but extremely powerful.

You might not see me posting any literary work on this platform again. I dey vex.
...
Ummm, you want me to teach you? A magician never reveals his tricks. Sorry.

When you have stories that span 100 pages plus on this forum, what do you expect? But personally, I feel its a challenge writers should take up, lengthier stories stretch you to the limit in terms of creativity, diction, and other literary techniques. My first pieces here were short too but with writing more, I started going further and further, pushing myself to the limit. I'm not where I want to be yet though but its interesting how far I've come.

You don't have to be discouraged by the reception though, its one of those things. Just keep writing and posting and taking the discouragements in stride and watching yourself grow. See, even though I'm not Achebe, I'm spitting motivational lines that would give Fela Durotoye a run for his money (only experience can give you that


So you're one of those guys with a small sized pecker I comment my reserve

My small criticism couldn't get me a tutorial session from the master of mixed metaphors, diarizGod oo

skarlett:

When you have stories that span 100 pages plus on this forum, what do you expect? But personally, I feel its a challenge writers should take up, lengthier stories stretch you to the limit in terms of creativity, diction, and other literary techniques.

Prose (Novel, novella etc.) is not really my genre. I'm not a novelist, neither do I aspire to be one. This is just me expanding my tentacles for the kicks and giggles. By now I expect you to be roundly familiar with the kind of prose I write.

My first pieces here were short too but with writing more, I started going further and further, pushing myself to the limit. I'm not where I want to be yet though but its intersecting how far I've come.

You don't have to be discouraged by the reception though, its one of those things. Just keep writing and posting and taking the discouragements in stride and watching yourself grow. See, even though I'm not Achebe, I'm spitting motivational lines that would give Fela Durotoye a run for his money (only experience can give you that

Well, I'm not getting paid a penny for posting here, am I?

Dear, I'm not discouraged; I'm merely rerouting my trajectory and wheeling my works over to where they'd be more appreciated. It's pointless selling menstrual pads in a town filled with only men.

So you're one of those guys with a small sized pecker I comment my reserve

I diminished myself, diminished my pecker, all in the name of erecting a simile from the debris.

Never has there been a greater martyr for Literature, one who would rather be self-effacing than allow a sentence pass without having it marked with his figurative engravings. .

My small criticism couldn't get me a tutorial session from the master of mixed metaphors, diarizGod oo

LOL. There is no tutorial, honey.
In the words of William Wordsworth, “Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart”. That's the best tutorial you can ever get.

swann:
Hollup, hollup, hollup, This is all? .

Nice story. I love that you were (super) descriptive I could almost feel Sarah's pain.

But

I'm not satisfied, at all

cc:Lleigh
Jagugu88li
Adesina12
creeza
skarlett
bibijay123

Thanks Swann for the info I am on my way

DarkRebel101:


No comments?

You wouldn't like them.

Question is: what's your tolerance level / limit?

Cool but gut wrenching prose. The length is apt though considering the message you are trying to deliver.