January 17th, 2014
Please be aware that this story deals with mature/intense themes.
We walked along the path that was strutted with pebbles, the wheat and the high grass swaying in the breeze. I looked out over the fields and saw a small playground. It was an awkward playground, planted in the middle of an open field, but not centered or aligned with anything. We walked to it.
The sky was broad, so broad, like the sky usually is in Iowa. I’d always loved the openness, the broadness of the sky, the nakedness of the clouds. For me, it was freedom.
We walked to the playground, silently. I never knew what he was thinking. He looked around. The entire park was empty, and we hadn’t seen anyone for miles.
He looked at me. I smiled.
He started walking towards me. There was something in his eyes that I didn’t recognize. I’d never seen before.
He grabbed me.
I thought he was playing at first, being spontaneous and fun.
But he wasn’t.
He grabbed me and groped me. I tried to push him away, but his hand gripped me hard and I couldn’t stop him. I laughed, thinking he was joking.
But he wasn’t.
His eyes burned like I had never seen them before. He pushed me onto the ground, gripping me, struggling. His fingers writhed, reaching for my shirt. He tore it off.
His hands slid down my waist, reaching for my pants. I screamed and cried and struggled, trying to crush his fingers. He slapped my face and tore my pants off.
What are you doing-
He forced me to the ground, he struggled and pressed and crushed me into the soft earth.
He held my wrists down and grabbed my legs. He twisted them apart.
He finished. He stood, panting.
He grabbed his clothing.
I lay in the grass, bleeding, staring up at that broad, open sky.
He went back to his truck and drove away from the park.
I lay on my back, facing the massive weight of the open void between the sun and my own bruised flesh.
I was numb. I didn’t feel my skin, I didn’t feel my legs or my fingers or my toes.
I felt tears dripping from my eyes and running down the sides of my head, over my ears and into the warm Iowa grass.
I looked up into the sky.
I’d always loved the openness, the broadness of the sky, the nakedness of the clouds.
But not any more.
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