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I am Not Lost - A True Experience Of A Girl


The train from Shillong to Kolkata was agonizingly late. Our two families, eight souls in total, including me at thirteen, were crammed into a single taxi at midnight. The driver, a greasy, sweating figure, insisted I move closer. Then, his hand clamped over mine, forcing it onto his damp, fleshy thigh. A slick, repulsive substance oozed beneath my fingers. Bile rose in my throat. I was being violated, exposed in front of my own family, trapped in the suffocating confines of the taxi.

As soon as the taxi lurched to a halt, I scrambled into the backseat, my body shaking uncontrollably. Sleep offered no escape. A shadow of shame clung to me, a constant, sickening presence. Then, a ghastly blue light pulsed from the electrical outlet in the room where I lay, shivering beneath a thin sheet. My legs turned to ice. The driver's voice, thick and leering, slithered through the air. I stumbled to the door and opened it.

He stood bathed in the eerie blue glow, his eyes fixed on me, a predatory gleam in their depths. His hand reached out, gnarled fingers outstretched to seize me. Terror choked me, tears blurring my vision. But then, my gaze fell on a kitchen knife on the counter. Slowly, I backed away, my fingers closing around the cold, smooth handle. In a swift, desperate motion, I lunged, driving the blade deep into his eye. A sickening pop echoed as the blade pierced the socket, followed by a torrent of thick, black blood that gushed down his face. He howled, a guttural, animalistic sound.

Driven by a primal rage, I frantically searched for a larger weapon. Beneath the sink, my hand closed around a rusty butcher knife, its blade pitted and stained. I wrenched it free and turned back to the writhing figure. With a savage cry, I brought the blade down, aiming for his groin. The impact was sickeningly soft, followed by a spray of blood and tissue. I hacked and sawed, consumed by a frenzy, tearing away chunks of flesh from his abdomen, the air thick with the metallic stench of blood and the coppery tang of entrails. I continued the gruesome work, until all that remained was a mangled mess of gore.

A piercing scream, a child's cry, jolted me awake. I gasped, my heart pounding in my chest. I stared at my hands, expecting to find them slick with blood, but they were clean. It was a nightmare, a recurring horror that clawed its way back into my mind night after night, each time reliving the gruesome demise of the creature who dared to violate innocence.

*Dedicated to all those haunted by the endless nightmares of their abusers, those who find no solace in sleep.

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