It is a dark place to walk through. Under a bridge, marked by giant rocks, you would want to steer clear. I would never in my right senses find me there, or anywhere near, but it is home now. In an apparition of what I once was, I roam the dark, alone, waiting…
It began in town, 5 pm. I waited for Martha and Mary to pick me up. A girls’ night for the weekend. There were people… plenty; twenties? Fifties? Hundreds? There were people… I waited within them but alone, along a staircase.
6 pm. Someone went around my back, a man, and another approached ahead. These were not Martha or Mary, I knew… but who? They would drug me before the wonder passed and help me off… a sick, incapable, poor girl… I was, but in the wrong hands.
8 pm. Humping. Humping. Flesh on flesh. Brute force. Powerful plunges. Flicker. Flicker. Weary flickers… a man was inside me. He pulled out and plunged, plunged, plunged. No consent. No time to talk. Flesh on flesh. Brute force. Then the pain! Darkness.
9 pm. Humping. Humping. Awake. Dried out of tears. Mute. Tired. Hurt. Feeling… used. Feeling… ragged. Wishing… wishing… for death. A man was inside me. A different man. He pulled out and plunged, plunged, plunged. No consent. Tired of fighting. Weak from it. Flesh on flesh. Brute force. Pain! Darkness.
10 pm. Silence. Emptiness. Cold. Then laughs. Clangs. I watched. There, lay my lifeless body, beside them. Stones and sticks pricked my flesh. The two men stood over me. Celebratory. Happy. Satisfied. Fulfilled. What a day! I watched, suspended… an apparition of what I was.
I dashed into the night and would always return… until the two joined me…
Benson Langat is a poet, fiction writer, and freelancer. A dreamer, he realizes a world of possibilities through stories and explores life in poetry. Benie is a dad and lives in Nairobi, Kenya.