Fire Escape

Fire Escape

I knew her when she was a little girl. Apart from others, she was. Away from me, she was. But the Others were drawn to her, to her unique, yet mysterious nature. They sought her admiration. It was the unwritten law of hierarchy that you admire someone, just for the sake of admiring. I chose that unreasonable, frustrating, fascinating and lonely girl. Damned were the rocks she threw at me, damned were the words she threw at me. She found pleasure in my displeasure, happiness in my unhappiness.

I was a man of virtue. But not of strength. Father was ruthless at that time, he was ruthless in his silence. What did I do to him? Wasn’t I good enough? I tried every night “Wanna play ball, papa?” but he didn’t flinch, on the lucky days he grunted. But that was it, a shadow always managed to cloak his face from expression. His eyes were constantly elsewhere. Always dark. Except on the days when he wasn’t silent, my mother’s screams were always covering his voice. His silence then became a luxury I never saw the light of. Mother always said that those we love the most always manage to hurt us. I wonder if that was what she always told herself on those nights. Thirty years later I still try to shake the constant feeling that I was actually an orphan, in search of a papa.

I found an escape in The girl. When I saw her for the first time she was alone, keeping to herself and scribbling something on someone’s copybook. She looked at me and a chill went through my spine. Dark brown eyes, framed with silky black hair tore my soul into pieces. I was surprised, it showed I still had a soul left. I thought papa took it away when he took mama away with him in the house fire. Mama couldn’t bear seeing Father go, he left another woman to be with her after all. But he always managed to remind her of that. Every.Night.

Grandma took me in, but the silence was like a spider, doing its web around my heart. The girl invaded my mind then. The same night when I missed mama I thought of another world, where The Girl and I loved each other, where she loved me because I was important, because I mattered, and because I was worthy to be loved. I felt a little less alone then.

We were never friends though, I was too busy loving her in my dreams. It was a rule to never tell her, else my dream would shatter, and I’d be left with nothing. She had her life, and I had ours.

Years later I decided to let go, it was grandma who told me so. “Why hold on to something that doesn’t bring you anything, sweetheart?”. I tried to man up and tell The Girl everything. At this moment, a straight line separated reality from fiction. She changed, transformed into that harmless being that was a stranger to my feelings. She became an ordinary, yet pure creature, which I no longer love.

It was my suffering that kept my love alive. I couldn’t understand it at first, but then I saw it. I saw its logic. Absolute love generates absolute hate, and average love generates average hate. It took me twenty two years and half to realize that the only reason she mattered so much is because she made me feel alive when I was surrounded by death. I stayed away from her to be hurt on purpose. I needed to bleed to know I still had blood running through my veins. As a child, imagination was my escape when the window wasn’t enough.

And that’s where it hit me.

I saw in her indifference a papa that was never mine in the first place.

He was Hers.

I took Her papa away when I set Him on fire.

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Trapped.

Warning: Mature Content. Scene of sexual nature.

                                                                                                Trapped.

I walk in the dark streets aimlessly, not knowing where they bring me. Small bubbles of light appear above my head, no, they’re street lights, nothing unusual. Darkness overwhelms me, blinds me from reality, a wandering soul in search of the closest source of warmth. Ripped newspapers litter the streets, I feel bright eyes on me. Eyes that I can’t see.. I smell smoke from the nearby bar, drunk husbands litter the ground as much as ripped newspapers. They make huffed sounds, look at me with hungry eyes, hungry hands, hungry pants. Some crawl towards me, block hurried second-hand cars from turning round the corner, others whistle, as if I was some kind of animal. I continue walking, plunging deeper into the quietest part of the place. I am alone with the wind, I feel its breezy fingers ruffling through my hair, touching my neck, feeling my hips. Closing my eyes, I stop in the middle of the streets, when suddenly two strong hands pull me in a pitch black corner of the street, in between two ancient buildings. My eyes still closed, though harder now, a high-pitched yelp escapes my lips as the two hands began exploring my body to my utmost horror. My breath becomes ragged. And since my back is to the owner of the daring hands, I get to avoid the icy stare of the monster hungry for my body. The cold soul that once seemed to be mine begins to dangerously warm up as I feel the hard, irregularly heaving chest against my back. Slowly, our breaths seem to have accustomed to each other, his going along with mine in unison. Gradually, he places his hands on my silk shirt, unbuttoning it while he removes a strand of black hair from my terrified face. When the unbuttoning is done, my bare chest is revealed, two firm breasts exposed to the harshness of the Winter wind. I feel his long fingers  tracing down from the nuzzle of my neck down to my chest, circling my nipples, playing with them, pinching them, teasing them. I try to get out from his grip but he pulls me harder. How would I have known that my brief rebellion had no effect other than arousing this stranger? He thus begins to touch my neck with his lips. His pecks starting out slow and tender, followed by soft blows to cool the mark left by his wet lips. As his rough, manly hands play with my breasts, his pecks grow to be more demanding, more aggressive. I sense a shift in his behaviour as he begins thrusting his crotch against my back. We thus start this oddly sensual dance in the mysterious night as I still don’t know the identity of this man. I am exhausted by fear, my knees begin to give in. He feels it. My fear intensifies as I feel his strong hands traveling down the helm of my skirt. I scream out ‘No!’ but he does not seem to hear, or care. He pulls out a thick string of rope from his pocket and ties my hands to a pipe running along the brick walls of the humid alley. I hear someone coming, ‘Help me! HELP!’ I yell, but as I see two pairs of paws with green eyes staring at me I realize it was just a black cat. A chilling laughter echoes in my ears. “Hold still.” the monster mutters, “We’re not done yet.”