BEFORE THE STORM

SCARLET SPRINGS

it was a chilly N O V E M B E R when it all begun.

she had only been outside for a short moment when his eyes first landed on the girl; aimlessly walking around with headphones in her ears, a bounce in her step, with hands tucked deep inside the pockets of her warm winter coat.

beautiful strawberry blonde hair;
heart shaped lips;
small button nose;
angelic, doe-looking eyes.

she  was  d i v i n e.

a sudden presence in front of her had stopped the girl dead in her tracks. such a strange and instantaneous reaction caused a wave of chills to run up and down her spine. a strong sense of panic was already gnawing at her from within; crawling under her delicate skin.

something about this man told her to
R U N   A N D   H I D E.

"what's a pretty lady like yourself doin' out this time a'night?" the man had inquired, cornering the young girl in an alleyway less than a helpless scream away from her childhood home.

whatever she might've attempted to do in order to escape his hold would've been futile, for she was doomed the second his eyes had locked onto hers.

the first wicked deed was done—

W I T H
O  N  E
D    E    V    A    S    T    A    T    I    N    G
B       L       O      W

T O
T  H  E
B     A     C     K

O F
T  H  E
H     E     A     D.

that was the beginning of the end.

a countless amount of days; months; years passed by. she could no longer remember what day it was; how old she was; what she looked like; what a mother's embrace felt like. all of anyone's worst nightmares was slowly but surely coming true—each day would go on to be ten times worse than the last. there was no room for a single moment of peace; only bruises, loss and despair.

and so would the remainder of her time on earth be spent; locked up, wholeheartedly ruined, and full of regret—'til her very last day.

her malnourished, quivering body choking out strangled sounds of unmistakable agony; his perpetually cold, empty eyes were only ever gleaming with lust and excitement in moments like these—both of them on the queen sized bed, e̶n̶d̶u̶r̶i̶n̶g̶ shifting under the fluorescent lights.

her with her writhing, frail body.
her with her pale, bruised skin.
her with her timid, broken voice.

it with its smelly, imposing frame.
it with its crooked, sinister smile.
it with its wrinkly, evil eyes.

every new day would always become,
with very thin margin—
                                                             T H E
                                                 W O R S T
                                    D A Y
                     O F
            H E R
L I F E.

u̶n̶t̶i̶l̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶f̶i̶n̶a̶l̶ ̶d̶a̶y̶.̶ ̶w̶e̶ ̶a̶l̶w̶a̶y̶s̶ ̶s̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶b̶e̶s̶t̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶l̶a̶s̶t̶.̶

"...p-please, s-st-stop... i won't t-tell a s-s-soul, i-i p-promise... just l-let me g-go, and i c-ca-can..."

and  then  s i l e n c e.
d̶o̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶f̶e̶e̶l̶ ̶i̶t̶?̶

d r i p,
                             d  r  i  p, 
                                                            d    r   i    p.

crimson red
E    V    E    R    Y    W    H    E    R    E.

blood and vitality that once waltzed through her veins with youthful grace was now coating the room like a cheap canvas.
the floor, the walls, the sheets.

                             e c h o,

                               e   c   h   o,

E     C     H     O.

the last of the girl's hopes and dreams bled out along with the rest of her; right on that filthy, crimson stained concrete. all the goals she had once set for herself, all that she had ever dared to dream for—the joy, the wisdom, the light she could have bequeathed the world was now forever lost.

[but that did no longer matter for the now-woman whose teenage years had been lost in a cellar underground, enslaved to a demon masquerading with the face of a man. for in death, she s̶h̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶'̶t̶ couldn't hurt anymore.]

s h e   w a s    S   A   F   E.
s h e   w a s L   U   C   K   Y.
s h e   w a s    F   R   E   E.