A perfect meal laid out before me Yet that isn't what I see
22 men 7 months 1 twelve year old girl I see those words on the paper across from me and can't go on.
I shrink back, trying to shut myself away from the ugliness of it.
I realize I can't.
I am not the scared child I was before. I don't stay up all night, cocooned in the fear of morrow. I don't cry , praying on my knees, when I am alone.
I straighten and reach out once more. Tracing those words for more.
My teeth clamped down, I can taste the familiar anger Rising, yet not consuming as before
I realize I can't hold all mankind responsible for the sins of few. Not anymore.
7 months it took for that little soul to come out of that hell hole. To break free from the loop of videotaped abuse To not give a damn about the threats of those vile men
What do those men deserve? Who am I to judge?
But don't they have sisters or daughters as old as her? Don't they ever feel guilty? Didn't they hear her screams for mercy? Were they so blinded by desire? Did gratification of their lust outweigh her tears?
But never-mind them and their deserved ends Her life will never be the same. Night terrors will still haunt her. But maybe someday she'll bury them in a crypt, shoulders hunched, and walk away
Will knowing that she isn't alone, help her walk taller? That several unlike her didn't dare whisper of their woes That several unlike her, haunted and tortured, ended their lives premature And several more like her wish they could save their tortured souls, like she did her own.