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PLUNDER

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PLUNDER

By Barbara Buchanan

She felt the cold knife on her throat. Surprisingly, she was not afraid, but oddly confused and suspended in state of utter disbelief. She wanted to ask, “Who are you and what do you want?”, but she could not speak.

He pulled her further into the woods and pushed her down in a thicket of tall grass. The snap on her shoulder length ponytail loosened as her body tumbled down into the tall greenery. The pony tail caught on a thorny bush, pulling it off. He picked the faux hair up and laughed loudly. “Who you trying to fool with this horse hair, bitch?” The hair was wavy, black with blonde streaks. He held the ponytail shaking it teasingly; his mouth in a mocking smile showing his snaggled teeth. He pretended to attach the ponytail to his butt, bounced around and neighed like a horse. He suddenly stopped. “You one of those snooty bitches. You got fake hair on those pudenda too?” He let out a howl of a laugh. She caught a whiff of his breath and succumbed to nausea.

Still she said nothing. She had not yet found her voice, but could feel her body shivering. She could also hear cars in the distance. She thought, “what if I yelled? What if I tried to run, if he’s going to kill me, shouldn’t I fight?”

The man stopped laughing suddenly. His eyes went black. He reached down and grabbed her Tee shirt—it tore and exposed her stomach. With one hand, he stood her up. “Act like you know and I won’t use this” he said angrily as he held up a knife. He lowered it and slowly rubbed it on her bruised cheek then pulled the tip of it across her stomach. “Don’t holler, be quiet” he seemed to beg.

Still nauseous, she felt eerily weak, and began to pray. She prayed every prayer she had ever heard or prayed herself. In a moment, she left that tall grassy area and was looking down on herself but strangely was also seated beside her mother at church.

“Momma what’s that mean?”

“What’s what mean?”

“What does e-ter-nal mean?”

“Well, forever. Always. Never-ending.”

“So when I go to heaven I will be alive?”
“More alive than you are now, honey.”

“How?”

“That’s God’s way, honey.”

“Well, that means I will never die.”

“It’s much like that.”

“So why do we die, if we are going to live forever anyway”.

 

She could feel her pants becoming wet as they dragged through the dewy grass. Her shoes came off, her socks were muddy, wet and being pulled off her feet. They ripped off when the backs of her feet were torn on a jagged branch. Pain pierced her body and her muscles jerked. He pulled her beyond the thicket into a denser wooded area. Briars and dirt tore more of her flesh open. Through blurry eyes, she saw his determined look as he pulled her body violently. His pants were around his ankles, which slowed him down. Blood covered his thighs as droplets dripped down his legs. His shirt was bloody too. She tried to speak; still no sound came; only gag reflexes as a warm metallic liquid filled her mouth. Its warmth escaped her lips, and tricked down on her nude chest where he had plugged six inches of steel.

“Mommy can God get everyone out of any kind of trouble?”

“He certainly can.”

    This is a snippet from a short story written by Barbara Buchanan. Barbara is working on publishing a book of her short stories The Eyes of God.