Trigger Warning: Extreme Horror: Contains Strong Sexual Content, Violence, Drug Use, and Language. by John Raptor Read Free Book Online Page A

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    “Oh please…please…” The swelling in my face is so great I can barely breathe. “Please don’t kill me. Oh god…I’m sorry. My dad raped me. He fucking raped me you fucking bastard!”
    “That’s no excuse,” the rabbit says. “Honor thy father.”
    The rabbit goes to a counter with a microwave oven sitting on it. He opens a drawer beneath the counter and I can see that it’s full of surgical tools (the reflection in the microwave’s blank mesh face) and I start screaming, my limbs turning to jelly, my heart swelling in the back of my throat. I scream at the top of my lungs: “NOOOO!” Shredding my vocal chords. I start choking, eyes bloodshot and red, dripping tears. “No you sick fuck! Let me go let me go!” The restraints bruise my ankles, and the broken bones in my wrists grind against each other, flowering fresh pain. I holler, snot and tears mingling on my lips, and I know the pain will only get worse but I can’t stop crying. “Please god! Please god help me! I’m so sorry! So sorry!”
    “God doesn’t give a shit about niggers, especially nigger whores,” the rabbit says. “You people don’t feel pain anyway. You’re fucking animals.”
    The rabbit crawls between my legs with a scalpel and I start twisting and shrieking in the restraints as it rips off my panties (just like my father…and Luke and Neil and Brady and Alex and Robert and John and Samantha and Alice) and presses its cold instrument to my inner lips…I feel a thunderbolt of pain as it slices into my clit…blood gushes onto the mattress, onto the rabbit’s furry white chest and paws and vacant eyes (like so many of my abusers)…and I know I’m going to die and the fear swallows me up and…
     
     
     
    …AT ANY MOMENT
     
     
     
    There was a girl just like me…
    …who removed bloody bandages from her head as he/she/it watched.
    Neither said anything.
    Her mascara trickled down her cheeks in tendrils, as he sat down on the bed, the springs inside squeaking like feral mice.
    A block of lead resided quietly in his throat.
    She washed the wound, the sink filling with crimson like chum on a salty sea.
    He exhaled a slow breath and she jumped. His eyes looked sad and innocent in the glow of the sliver moon.
    But her scalp throbbed…and tiny crumbs of green glass fell from her long hair, tinkling in the porcelain basin. Somewhere downstairs, a shattered beer bottle lay in the trash. She glanced at him. He stared through her, at the picture on the wall. In the picture, he held her from behind: he in a pressed charcoal tux, she in a flowing pink Cinderella gown. Prom 2007.
    He exhaled again. She did not jump this time, only quivered. She could smell rotten barley permeated on his tongue. Heat rose in her chest. Her gut twitched. The tap on the sink was silenced. Crickets whispered to each other in the night. Tires squealed in the street, destroying the cricket’s serenity. Loud laughter and screaming soon followed. She jumped again.
    He did not move. He did not say anything. She crawled into bed, turned on her side, and watched the moon wane through the window. She expected him to say something, perhaps kiss her on the cheek.
    He said nothing.
    He sat for a long moment on the edge of the bed and then moved, the springs beneath crying as he turned away from her. He stared at the opposite wall and fell asleep.
     
     
     
    …LAST YEAR
     
     
     
    The man didn’t move. He stood in the rain like a statue, droplets of rain glittering on his trench coat like diamond beads in the yellow glow of the street lamps. I was afraid of him, but I didn’t know why. It wasn’t the pale moon which cast his shadow long on the sidewalk. It wasn’t the Pall Mall which dangled between thin white lips. It wasn’t the fact that I couldn’t see his eyes beneath the brim of his hat. No, I was afraid of everyone, not just this man. The kind and gentle faces struck fear in me, as well as the ones hidden in shadows. As I passed him on