Like the silhouette of my darkness, he lurked into my room, a harbinger of sorrow.
“Tonight?” I said.
“With endless possibilities my darling.” He whispered, disheveled.
Breathing heavily, his wobbly gait approached my body. The condemnation of my soul grew in his eyes as he pushed his way through the oasis of my depth.
I shivered, saying, “Please do not hurt me, sir.”
With a slap on my face, he shouted, saying, “Do not address me with such a condescending utterance! I am no sir but a mere beast.”
Never had I heard him speak so lowly of himself. He was a man worshipped by his wife and children; but since the inferno which immensely consumed them, he had become a mere shadow of himself.
As he ripped the already shredded cloth off my skin, he aggressively choked me as he made his way to my femininity. This act had become banal, as I moaned feignedly to the mind-numbing drama.
Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder followed with a gentle and bewildered voice saying, “Sarah, what are you thinking about? Mummy has been shouting your name.”
I immediately came to my senses and switched off the running tap in the kitchen where I stood.
“Where is she?” I asked my little sister.
“She is in the living room with daddy.” She replied with a straight face.
With a disturbed mind, I headed towards the living room.
The voice of Uncle John resonated with me as I shut the door of the living room where he sat with my parents. I was so torn by his sight I felt an awful pound in my heart. He was the man from my demented thought.