Falling

twelve

Mnemophobia: 
n. fear of memories

*****

In the next few

days,

weeks,

months,

I laid, in my little rag.

The tattered pieces of clothing bunched in my arms, and my entire frame curled around the bundle. My limbs heavy, exhausted, stained with dried tears, blood, and sweat.

I look dirty.

I feel dirty.

I am dirty.

They came in occasionally, with water, old, stale bread served in dog bowls and left them at my feet.

They did not acknowledge me, except with spurts of disgust. I still flinched whenever they're near, despite the lack of violence. I despised myself for the weakness, for the uncontrollable fear.

I could have laid there and simply succumbed to the vortex of black sleep gave, forever. The thought was tempting, and I wanted nothing more but to be relieved from this never-ending torture.

But I didn't.

And I don't know why.

Stiff, painful, pulses of pain etched their memory onto my body with every movement I made.

And yet, I lapped up the water and tore at the bread with savage strokes of hatred.

There was something keeping me alive, I just don't know what.

-

His tall, muscular frame leaned against the entrance to prison when I finally returned. He seemed to be in a foul mood, his entire demeanor screamed murder. His eyes darted, and swept across the yard, as if he searching for something, for someone.

And then they landed on me.

I was held immobile, and could only hold his gaze as he moved, no, ran across the space.

Strong arms engulfed my frame.

Immediately, a graphic flashback of that night snapped through my mind and I cried out. His face, the man's face, they merged together.

I know he's not the man but the terror couldn't be quenched by logic.

His arms were forced away from me, and with a strength I didn't know I possessed, I pushed him away. My legs worked on autopilot, carrying me away.

I couldn't deal with his touch, it's too soon, too early.

I was glad I couldn't see his face as I ran, because it would test the theory that I can't be broken more than I already am.