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December 26, 2011
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I wouldn't have taken any notice if it hadn't been for the laughter.  It wasn't merry or even cruel.  It was the barbarous laughter of evil and vicious darkness and it chilled the marrow of my bones.  Turning my head to look down the dim alley, I saw them: a semi-circle of four men focusing on their entertainment for the evening—namely, a fifth fellow and what I assumed was merely a cheap piece, some drugged up doxy earning a wage for her next fix.

Oh God, how I wish she had been a whore.  Some pathetic moll who let herself be roughed up and down for a few bucks, but this was no whore.  I wasn't innocent; I'd seen plenty of cocottes  and the looks in their eyes that craved money or men or both and I'd witnessed the haunting desperation for something better, along with a resignation to what they had.  This woman—so very young—this wasn't a two-bit cyprian, down on her luck, trying to make a dollar and feed a habit.

Bruises marred her ashen, swollen face, some of them obscured by disheveled strands of dirty, titian hair.  One dirty, muscled hand kept her small, thin arms pinned above her head, so they wouldn't swing limply, getting in the way of his business.  In the dim lamplight of the alley, I saw the glint of a silver bracelet, the kind with charms and bangles.  The other five fingers dug into her backside, kneading her flesh roughly as his body kept her pinned up against the abrasive, damp wall of the building.  Her white dress was shoved up around her hips and a sandal, one of those wedge heel types with a floral print, dangled half off her left foot while its partner lay discarded beneath her.  

She didn't make a single sound, not even the smallest whimper, as he forced himself into her again and again.  The criminality of it all roused something in me.  I had nothing on me, not even cash to attempt to pay them off, and certainly no weapon to threaten them away.  Still, I had to make an attempt.

"Hey!  What are you doing?" A foolish question, but I was a fool, after all.

"Back off, friend."  One of the men—tall, swarthy, Herculean type, the sort that would have had women swooning if it weren't for the meanness in his eyes and the emptiness in his soul—turned towards me, the other three observers flanking him on both sides.  "This isn't any of your concern—unless you want to make it yours."  A nasty switchblade flicked out to back up his veiled threat and I hesitated, my feet pausing in their approach.  No knife or gun on my person, and my ideas of justice and aiding her began to falter.  I glanced over to the fifth bestial man and the battered figure he continued to hold against the bricks.

A forceful thrust jerked her head, causing it to roll to one side and just for a moment I thought her eyes met mine, but they didn't see me.  Once upon a time before this one, they had been green.  I imagined a green like the fresh hues of spring, when everything is new and young and innocent—much like she must have been.  Now her eyes were the dead, dull shade of grass in the winter, glazed with denial as she had long retreated into the depths of her mind.  She couldn't see me or my cowardice and I was ashamed to know it selfishly made me feel better about myself.  If she couldn't see me then I, too, could deny what was happening.  I could walk away and pretend it was a figment of my imagination, a nightmare that I had conjured up and was of no consequence.  

Another bruising jerk of the fifth man's hips sent her eyes off in another non-direction and I was released from her distant stare.  Who was she to me?  No one.  Why subject my life to death and my organs to theft when she was already broken?  And in a town like this, reporting a crime was just the long route to having your very own death certificate.  I took another step back, every bit as criminal as the coterie in the alleyway.  

"That's right, friend.  Nothing to see here."  

I turned my head back to the main street, shoving my hands deep within my coat pockets—perhaps if I reached deeply enough, I might find salvation—and I walked on.  

There was nothing to see.
:iconriencuran:
Open your eyes.

So many people refuse to accept the truth and reality of sexual assault, even when a victim comes out and reveals what has happened. No one wants to believe that it's real. They close their eyes and block out the sounds and it hurts others emotionally and mentally almost as much as the original crime...

Edit:
When I was 19, I was raped by a classmate of mine in college. And I spent years dealing with people who wanted to pretend it didn't matter, who wanted to pretend that it was something less ugly, who wanted to pretend that it didn't affect them. I lost friends I thought I could trust and I lost respect for school officials when most of them walked away, shut their eyes, did nothing, and then looked at me with smiles on their faces. I know that I am not unique in my situation and my heart goes out to all the other women and men out there who have been sexually assaulted and subsequently abandoned.

As for the style itself, I know this needs a lot of work, and I would appreciate feedback and critique. Be as harsh as you must. I like constructive criticism.
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Daily Deviation

Given 2013-01-29
A powerful message of courage, or lack there of, is definitely conveyed, and you feel enraged by the narrator's inaction says a commenter on this piece. Nothing to See by *Riencuran ( Featured by ^NicSwaner )
:iconcandy42:
Such a wonderful work, so heartbreaking and true. It speaks out about a big problem that most people deny. They isolate themselves in their own utopia and shut out the victims, both men and women. Your use of words made it more real instead of a flat problem that can just slip away, though the scene you described could be a little stereotypical and a tad unreal as it can (and often does) happen behind closed doors. The way you wrote this left a great impression on my mind and it will drift inside my mind for a long time to come. Thank you for bringing this sensitive topic up.
What do you think?
The Artist thought this was FAIR
2 out of 2 deviants thought this was fair.

:iconprophetic-king:
First, let me start by saying I myself am an artist, yet I've never come close to writing anything deep like this. I have never gone through anything like this yet I sympathize with you, and as you stated this is a subject not many people will acknowledge; and I appreciate that you addressed this. as far as your style I was amazed, the way you used your words made me see the alley, and the men and narrator as If I were actually there. So I think your writing is amazing. I would enjoy reading more of your works, and am looking forward to more.
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The Artist thought this was FAIR
3 out of 3 deviants thought this was fair.

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:iconsarplant103:
You have awoken the rage with in me. Rage that has feed off the cronic pain of health problems since age two. Beating by an older brother feed the rage. When other bullies showed themselves, all the rage would erupt. I attacked bullies twice my size and would fight with wild abandonment. I bit legs, and claws away at the cheeks from the inside out. When time the nice old man ( that I was friends with for years ) tried to teach a then 14 year old boy about sex by tackeling me to the ground and putting his hands inside my pants, I was primed to explode. When he didn't stop after I ask, he went from a nice friend to a dirty old bully. I snapped and drove an elbow back with everything I had. I heard a sicking crunch followed by a woosh just before he crashed to the floor. My rage slowly faded when the assault stopped and he was no longer moving. I was scared I killed him. I tried, but failed to get him up from the floor. He was dead weight and must have weighed 1.5 to 2 times as my own weight. After a few minutes, he said he just needed to catch his breath. He didn't want me to call any body for help - don't think he wanted to explain anything. After about 10 minutes, I left with him still lying on the floor ( a phone on the table a few feet away ). It was a few weeks before I seen him out & about again. The sickening sounds from that night make me thing I have have broken one or more ribs and maybe punchered a lung.

I don't think others want to pretend things like this didn't happen, it's just they don't know what to say or do it make it any better. They say nothing or be little things, and hope you can move past it, forget it, they don't know that will never happen, but they also don't know what else to do.

I was 14 then, over 50 now. I still have not forgotten.

PS: I belive I would snap and attack them all - even though I am in poor health. When I snap the rage is very clearly expressed in my face and eyes, a crazy mad man that few want to fight, and those that do normal regret.
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:iconneko2631:
I'm glad this got a DD. Thank you.
Reply
:iconriencuran:
*Riencuran Jan 30, 2013  Student General Artist
I'm a little overwhelmed myself that it received a DD! :heart: And thrilled beyond comprehension!
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:iconlacewinged-beauty:

This was heart-breaking.
Reply
:iconwillpowered:
~willpowered Jan 29, 2013   Interface Designer
Courage looks so many ways, as does cowardice.

I have to confess that, as an activist and advocate for women in all stages of life, I was struck by the contrast drawn between your victim and those "others" who, presumably would have less to lose from being in the same position. The use of the green of her eyes the freshness vs. the death that comes from this kind, level and nature of violation, and the violence and seeming inherent maliciousness of her attackers. For better or worse, this is the image of rape that resonates and angers most easily in our culture, rather than the (VERY COMMON) incessant and on-going rapes that do not leave as visible marks. No one will wonder whether she was, to use a semi-current meme "legitimately" raped. Sorry. That makes my stomach sink, just writing those words in together. And it is, fortunately, much more rare in this part of the world (as opposed to parts of the world that are at war). Or perhaps unfortunately, since it means that when it is a college classmate, or the woman is "a whore", it is treated, by and large, as ACTUALLY a non-issue.

That is not to say there is anything wrong with this story, or with your presentation of it. It is powerful and intense.

The last thing that I am left wondering is what comes next.

Not for the victim. I think we can put that together pretty accurately - it isn't pretty, but it is predictable.

For the narrator, and for us. What does she do, now? Carry a gun? What do we do now? Knowing that that venom and violence is running loose in our world? Knowing that our mothers and aunts, sisters and daughters, nieces and other lovely young women are not safe, what do WE do?

Again, this isn't to say you need to answer it at all. But knowing that these questions come next, would you want to foreshadow? If so, what? Or how?

Thanks for sharing this.
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:iconriencuran:
*Riencuran Jan 30, 2013  Student General Artist
No, thank you for your comment. It means a lot. I feel like I say often to people but I sincerely mean it. Unfortunately, as ugly as the words are when put together, the "legitimacy" of rape is tossed all over the place. And yes, there are those select few who have severely damaged the credibility of rape victims through false testimony, but so many are subjected to assaults that only leave invisible scars. I spent my last two years at college battling with the administration for them to help. I've spoken with other girls who faced the same problem. No physical proof, no justice, no closure.

I like the questions you bring up. They are indeed something to think about and consider...
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:iconwillpowered:
~willpowered Jan 30, 2013   Interface Designer
I'll be watching for you.

I also wanted to ask/invite you to read my Redbird and Rox story, about two Portland "whores".

Let me know what you think. This stuff is hard to write about, or read about. We have to be willing to be one another's witness.
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:iconwhatmadnessisthis:
~whatMadnessIsThis Jan 29, 2013  Hobbyist Digital Artist
It's a very, very disturbing, sad subject, but you did a very good job with it- this hits home. Hard.
It seems like something that could happen, you make it very real. The reactions of the spectator are very honest- you probably don't think much, too shocked. This is both simple and very complex at once, amazing, well deserved Daily Deviation, although it's sad that the topic is so personal to you. I don't know how to say this without being extremely awkward, but my heart goes out to you and I wish you the very best in life.
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:iconriencuran:
*Riencuran Jan 30, 2013  Student General Artist
:hug: Thank you. Truly.

:rose:
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:iconwhatmadnessisthis:
~whatMadnessIsThis Jan 30, 2013  Hobbyist Digital Artist
You're very welcome :heart:
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