Death of Inocence

Her skin was an ivory marked with cuts and bruises, showing the pathway her father’s callused hands charted every night on her frail frame after her mother’s body was first placed beneath the ground. The imprints of his wanting flesh over her tender being felt like poison slowly dripping inside of her, withering the innocence away. The net of scars, being woven after every sunset in the continuation of three years, ensnared her body, submerging below the surface to choke her spirit, until madness sank its nails deep in her mind. 1

Pleading whimpers whipped the still night’s air as she lay maddened by pain. Her childish figure, which now resembled a broken skeleton covered by a sickly wax canvas, convulsed and suffered under the fever of pain. Swollen by the beating fingers trembled as they gently touched the beating heart of scorching agony between her legs. A new whimper broke free from her lips, born from humiliation and depravity. 2

Then it all went numb. No longer did her skin burned by the touch of grass and gravel beneath her. No longer did her bones ache by the memories of her father’s fists. No longer did her spirit fight with the obscenity of reality. All was washed away in the sea of numbness. 3

There came the vicious roaring she anticipated for so long. Like a sick rose blooming for the last time she spread her body like a cross, placing her head gently on the railway. Melinda’s eyes shone like stars of aquamarine as liquid diamonds ran down her cheeks. Her last sigh in this world as the train shredded her to pieces marked the liberation from pain, the death of innocence.4