This time I got the right title. This is my first time writing a fictional piece that is not prose. I hope you enjoy, and all comments are welcome.
"Shattered Purity"
The blue chair nestles her body in comfort; the soft velour caressing into her flesh. Gazing beyond the red trimmed window, watching as the force of the rain seemingly slashes through the pain. Seeing the moonlight slice through the sheets of pouring glass she remembers, a similar time before.
Her eyes flutter closed as she sees that little girl staring through a rain-glazed window. Hearing the quickening pace of the drops against the thin glass reflects the building sickness inside. She, her, the little girl who was…stiffens.
The rickety muffler reverberates a sound of dread into the darkness, bringing her sickness to a point of overflow. Tonight is the end. This she just knows.
In the dark she sits, this little girl who learned to listen by the back of a hand, holding her breath. She cannot make a sound.
Fear, anger, and the animal determination to survive begins to rage through her.
Other than the sound of rain pitting against the glass, all is silent outside. The door below creaks, breaking into her thoughts. Her breath catches. A voice cuts through the night, beckoning her. The silence of her ragged breath telling, remembering…hands covering her. Anger consumes and begins to flame.
On the stairs now, her name flows as a singsong. Like a cat, this breath of a girl takes a stance. Knowing what that sickening sing song voice is cue for, the fact that she must give. Tonight she will refuse.
She watches the knob as it turns with the presence behind. Suddenly the door is forcefully thrown open, that voice demanding reason for her defiance.
She doesn’t hear, she sees. A little girl thrashing in the sheets as the nightmares over take her. Him, sweaty face contorting as he rips from her what was only hers to give. She sees, she feels…
Rage.
Her arm lifts, her finger twitches. Her arms jerk violently from the kickback. Then nothing.
A deafening sound rips through the room where the ones who are not really there sit. Some turn to gasp, at what they do not really see.
In the blue chair, with the soft velour, a sticky wetness begins to spread. Her sickness that he began finally encasing her.