Stream of Consciousness
Cold
TW: Rape, self-harm He can’t help but get on you in the middle of the night. He knows you’re not okay. He knows you can’t handle this right now. It’s nearly two o’clock in the morning though, and you’re sleeping peacefully beside him. Your nearly naked body is so close, so warm. You’re asleep on your stomach, and your long blonde hair is strewn across a pillow. He touches it; it’s soft and damp. The subtle scent of your conditioner wafts up to him. He wants you. Later, he rolls back over, and you know he’s pretending to be asleep. You get up and put on a t-shirt before going to the bathroom. You splash cold water on your face, clean yourself up. By the time you come back, his breathing is deep. His snoring starts back up. He’s asleep. You crawl back into bed and curl up into a tiny ball on the right side, shivering – only partly from the cold.
By Shelby Larsen5 years ago in Fiction
There Were Three Missing
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. This picture of hope is what my mother told me she would use to cope. She cleaned for a man who was part of The Policy when I was young before my sisters were born. The window provided that small opening that she could see a place where nature had not been tortured. Where animals moved around, and birds flew in the sky. She still had hope then, still believed that things would eventually work out. I wish I could talk to her now after all that has happened.
By C. H. Richard5 years ago in Fiction
