Deep Wounds: A Scar for Life
She looked down at her battered body huddled defenselessly at the side of the bed… stretches of scars made maps down her back and thighs. Her wrists showed futile signs of fatal attempts. Loneliness can be a killer. Neglected. Wounded. Dark patches surrounded tiny abrasion in the flesh and bold black veins screamed for needles… Her skin itched for that ooze- that chilling ooze- that brought ecstasy to flow in her. Neat parallel lines marked her inner thighs and arms; traces of some sharp object: a cutter then? This was how her life had become. An incessant nightmare. She breathed heavily, gasping for air through the hairs that stuck on her sweaty face as she recalled recent events… The pain she had endured… The whipping… The beating… The warm blood trickling down her spine.
Then… it went dark…
And just before her eyelids weakened she knew it was not over.
Water filling her lungs and burning her windpipe… Drowning!
When her body went limb her hair was pulled back so that her face was out of the death hole.
Air quickly replaced thrown up water.
Her body collapsed to the ground. Trembling.
A close eye watched. It was pleasured.