She once held her head high, when greeted, she'd always answer with a smile — freedom was something she chose for herself and for the longest time that was her escape.

Until it wasn't.

Her hair as red as the fire of hell, burning like rays of sun, eyes would follow and men would make her their prey. In the day light, they would nestle next to their wives and at night, their hands would wander around her body.

One by one, their fingers would strip her naked, leaving her soul bare, taking her innocence along with her. 'No's' became a prayer, a plea disappearing in the air. In a road full of fallen branches and stones, her screams were left behind.

Her voice was raw, she struggled for air — and yet, just like her plea, when the stars would burn under the black layer and the sun would come out, heavy footsteps would scurry away from her and multiple pair of eyes would choose to oversee the woman, somehow wearing an invisible blindfold that made them believe this was okay.

"Please help me." Was a sentence that the law decided to put aside.

After all, the law is blind,
just like its bystanders.

The tears held a thousand words painted in them, scars that carved her skin were a reminder that she was still alive, a shame she felt. She was a puppet in their games, pulling her strings like they lived in her. Voices filled her ears, "Your skirt was too short, what were you doing out soo late? — were you drunk?"

Fingers were pointed at her and yet no one asked: "Are you okay?" Or "it's not your fault." She kept her mouth shut despite the accusations because she knows — what she would say would fall upon deaf ears.

Nightmares would drench the little to no life left within her. She was breathing but barely surviving. Her hands twitched to just grab the pills and end her life but despite wanting to give into the temptation,

❝ She rose and held her head high.❞