Her face was ashen.
The cold went through her thin clothing.
Her hands struggled to hold onto the money to purchase bread.
Her legs dragged her weak and battered body along the street.
The rain started to pour and the ones from her eyes followed suit.
There was a loud one accompanied by thunder and lightning.
And there was a silent one, bearing the grief in the heart.
Only the heart could feel the pain.
Only the eyes could stand the gaze.
It was a loud silence.

She continued to move, despite all odds.
The rain continued pouring; the one from the sky and the one from her hazel eyes.
Everywhere was blurry.
Soon, she could hear the sound of feets shuffling behind her, despite the noise her company, the rain made.
Not one. Not two. Not three. There were a few. And they were coming near her.
But she was not moved. Neither was she frightened.
Her teenage body continued to move, clutching the money.
She must get the bread.

Soon she was stopped.
She raised her head up.
Her eyes took in the five men that had surrounded her.
Soon it was dark.
The cloth tightened on her eyes.
The men dragged her away, but she did not scream.
And she resisted not.

She was pushed to the ground. Her backside fell to the hard ground and she squirmed softly.
Her eyes were still blinded by the tight clothing around it.
Soon she could hear the sound of clothes being torn.
And they were her own clothing.
Hot lips descended on her shoulders. All over her body. And she squirmed.
There were various lips on various parts and they invaded her.
Rough hands clamped on her. Sometimes gently. Sometimes rough.
It was all torture.
Tears rolled down her eyes that were still blinded.
But she did not struggle.
Numerous thrust invaded her.
Blood flowed, unending.
Her weak body fell down to the side after the torture.
First, she was broken.
Now, she has been invaded.
Destroyed.
The cloth was removed from her eyes.
Her vision became blurred. And she gave up on her struggles.
She has been destroyed, Stepmother's bread could go to hell.






© Haiza.