My thoughts have turned darker in the last hour. The hope I took for granted all my life has faded. It is almost impossible to believe in anything.
The bruises from the hands of my captors have become a familiar throb, but blood flows from the wounds inflicted by the last customer.
In a way, my death will free me, except I can’t see anything ahead but darkness and pain. I try to pray. The words won’t come. Darkness folds over me.
Bright light wakes me. I’m in a hospital bed and a kind-faced woman attends me. Is it real?
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Yes! Love it. Never crossed my mind to write from the victims point of view, well, I’m talking in a fictional sense. Great writing
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One sign of an excellent fiction writer is when the reader asks the question: Is this autobiographical?
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Victim is so painful…and have all depth needed. pressed it.
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Reblogged this on Shaktiki Sharma and commented:
Darkness and no hopes…the victim of time, captive of time, how long it lasts…THE HAPPIEST LAST HOUR.
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This is full of such great description and I love the ending.
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I’m so glad my story found a home here on Drabble and that you all seemed to get what I had hoped. It isn’t autobiographical, but one day when I sat down to pray for the victims of human trafficking, I wondered . . . what if a woman had been so hurt that she couldn’t quite believe in rescue? So, that started this story.
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