(This post does not expresses my views towards rape victims. This post has taken its shape from the instances that has been mentioned in the interview of a victim's father, published in 'Tehalka' magazine under the title "The anatomy of Rape").
They dragged me, called me a 'Ra**i'. They were ramming my body, one after the other. I was lying naked on the floor, the bruises were overpowering me as badly as they were. Hours later, my body got immune, against their every push, against the bruises i had. My muscle stopped responding and my soul too.
I woke up on the next morning. It was graveyard quietness. They left me with torn identity, torn conscience and a torn vagina. I wore my leftover pieces of clothes and came out to witness the lights of the day after whole 3 days. People were staring at me and at my leftover pieces of clothes that could barely hide anything. It didn't really matter for a 'Ran*i' who has nothing left in her body, untouched, unused.
I was watched by many people with their soul as rotten as mine. Finally, my staggering body got one shoulder. He took me home and handed me to my father.
.........................
Now it's been 8 years. The same story haunts me everyday. I was raped, several times then, by how many people, I don't know. My father lodged a case. I was interrogated several times, being asked with absurd, humiliating questions openly in court, in the presence of those smiling sinners. My own scream had made me deaf long ago. Papa has been fighting for justice for last 8 years. He has been fighting for a lost soul, a dead breathing body.
Today, I am leaving my Papa alone.
Today, I would be dead, for the one last time.
They dragged me, called me a 'Ra**i'. They were ramming my body, one after the other. I was lying naked on the floor, the bruises were overpowering me as badly as they were. Hours later, my body got immune, against their every push, against the bruises i had. My muscle stopped responding and my soul too.
I woke up on the next morning. It was graveyard quietness. They left me with torn identity, torn conscience and a torn vagina. I wore my leftover pieces of clothes and came out to witness the lights of the day after whole 3 days. People were staring at me and at my leftover pieces of clothes that could barely hide anything. It didn't really matter for a 'Ran*i' who has nothing left in her body, untouched, unused.
I was watched by many people with their soul as rotten as mine. Finally, my staggering body got one shoulder. He took me home and handed me to my father.
.........................
Now it's been 8 years. The same story haunts me everyday. I was raped, several times then, by how many people, I don't know. My father lodged a case. I was interrogated several times, being asked with absurd, humiliating questions openly in court, in the presence of those smiling sinners. My own scream had made me deaf long ago. Papa has been fighting for justice for last 8 years. He has been fighting for a lost soul, a dead breathing body.
Today, I am leaving my Papa alone.
Today, I would be dead, for the one last time.
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