The Man

She had seen the man so many times before. In her bedroom as a child when called himself father; in her church when he called himself teacher; in the bar when he called himself boyfriend. Each time it seemed there was less reason to fight. He always won: he always got fucked, and she always got torn apart by his cruelty. it almost seemed like she had never had sex she had wanted. It was something he took over and over again. He didn't care that she didn't want it. He didn't care that he made her bleed. He didn't care that she often needed stitches afterward. No one else seemed to care either. No matter how many times she pleaded for someone to help her. Her mother, her principal, the bartender. "The world needn't know your secrets," they would say.

One time a police officer had offered to put him in jail. He filed charges against him and even took him to court. He had said that she wanted it. He had said that she liked it rough. He had said that he couldn't fight her off any longer. The policeman shook his head and turned away from her. He believed him. He had done it again when she first moved into the building. He sat by her door and waited for her to arrive home. She had screamed and cried and begged him. Not this time, let me go this time. She reminded him of all the other times, but he had laughed at her and called her crazy. He liked it anally, just like daddy. She swore to him that it would be the last time. Yet, there he sat, once again wanting what he always wanted. Waiting for his victim like an assassin.

She watched him crouch like a broken chair and his blood pulsed like a heart attack that rang in her head. His breath pulsed out and cut the air shooting through his teeth like bullets. He shook ever so slightly perhaps with the thrill he thought he would get from her. Perhaps from the fear that he would have to kill her to get what he wanted. She inched back a step easing out of the darkness. She saw him start like he would move towards her at that moment, but still he sat glaring madly at her. She could not run, and fate seemed to pull her toward him. She fought it. She knew better than to endanger herself like that, to take the chance that he would leave her be.

The breathing grew louder, the need seemed to bleed from his pores and alight in the air around him. She could feel that disease and worried that perhaps all her resolve could not tear her away from this destiny. She crept back into the darkness. She would not fear him. She had promised herself that so long ago and though the reasons were there it seemed silly to test it this way but what could he choice be? Running was never a choice, hiding was never a resolution. A surge powered her blood through her moving her body with it's force, she was ready to fight or die. She marched down the hallway knowing what could be behind the doorway, knowing what could become of this decision she had made. No more would he beat her down, no more would he make her cry as he had before. Now she was ready with the skill she needed. The fight lay in her bones the sickness it would take to destroy him now hung in her throat. It tasted like tears, it tasted like blood

She walked on with her head held high and within it she heard screaming but it wasn't real. She walked on and so may sensations flooded her. Violence and hatred and the need deep within her most primal grain to succeed in this struggle. She felt she must be close now, though her new power blinded her. She walked stronger and the terrain grew treacherous and then soft beneath her. She slid through as greasy puddle but her footing was was sure. She would soon feel him upon her and she knew what that could mean. She felt a liquid warm and sticky flung upon her from a now invisible source. She was almost past him. she knew this, there was a cacophony of pain that filtered into her ears, a loud TV she thought these neighbors are shameless. She wiped at the warmth and walked on. a crack a gush. She felt none of it and what's more she didn't care. Perhaps now it could all end. Now it could be laid to rest. She reached her door and grasped her doorknob. Her fingers slipped and left dark tracks on the brass. She unlocked the door and made her way inside. None of it seemed real. She went straight to her bed and hoped some sleep would sort it out...

A loud sound at the door awakened her. A siren, a megaphone. She went to the door seeking some excitement after her crazy dreams. She creaked the door open and stood facing a man with a gun stiffly pointed at her face. She raised her hands and the handcuffs clinked neatly upon her wrists. She was dazed and asked what was going on. what had happened? Why was she in handcuffs? She heard a man say "This one may be goin' to the looney bin." as they pushed her head into the car. The sirens wailed as they drove her away and she still hadn't seen that her dress was awash in his blood.