The Lost Butterfly- a story of aliens, love and humans. The Stalker (2d)

Ch.2d

The man excused himself from the owner of the gallery and left hurriedly. He already had a plan and he needed every minute to work it out to the last detail. He called for his car and left the premises.

The young artist went to the bathroom and washed his face with cold water. He stared for a moment in the mirror at his own reflection; he felt lost and lonely. His loving companion was far away and he didn’t want to disturb him. So he took a deep breath and returned to the exhibition; there were still two hours left until closing and he was needed there.

At half past eight, the owner and his five young stars were waiting outside to be collected. Moments later, the huge black limousine stopped in front of the building and the man invited them inside. He took them to a very pleasant but highly expensive club; the music was good and the drinks were exquisite. Many well-known personalities were sitting at the tables and all of them seemed to look up to the man. He introduced them his new young protégés; he made a mental note at each turning head, after they made acquaintance to the Butterfly Artist. Though he acted more restrained than usual and more serious than his actual self, his beauty remained untouched. The aura of gentle magic that surrounded him left a strong impression upon everybody. His friends playfully teased him but he shook his head and dismissed all the talks about that topic.

The young man knew he was trapped and his mind was feverishly working to find a way out of the current situation. He complied with his friends’ request, he took the girls and danced with them but he stick to his non-alcoholic juice, saying that he had a mild headache. Food was served but he took only a bit; he wasn’t in a mood to eat. He couldn’t avoid having a glass of champagne offered by their host; the man wanted to toast for their artistic development. After this, it was out of question to drive home in their cars. The man offered to drive each of them home and they were thrilled by his generosity. Only the Butterfly artist remained gloomy; he desperately needed to go home by himself but he didn’t want to seem rude or to spoil his friends’ pleasure. It was well past midnight when he decided to call a cab and go home; a strange dizziness took over him and he couldn’t take it anymore. The girls were worried and his friends decided to end the party and leave. The man called the limo, embarked them all and ordered the driver to take them home. They stopped at the young Butterfly’s home and left him safe and sound in front of his house. They wave him goodbye and left. The young man leaned against the wall for a moment; the world was spinning and then everything went black.

Before he even touched the ground a dark silhouette stepped out from the shadow and stopped his fall. A car silently stopped and the dark man placed the young inside, on the rear seat. He then stepped at the front seat and they left in a hurry. The man took his prize in his arms, buried his face into the rebellious black hair and inhaled deeply. The fresh fragrance invaded his senses and he swallowed hard, hit by the sudden burst of desire. The inconspicuous white powder mixed into the glass of champagne has rendered the young man helpless; he was immersed in a deep sleep. He was totally unaware of the car’s destination.

As they reached the house, the man took the sleeping young artist man and carried him up in the bedroom. He laid him on the bed and carefully undressed him. He stared in amazement at the naked youth; he was the embodiment of perfection. In his sleep, he looked like the living image of Endymion, the beautiful young man loved by the Goddess of the Moon, Selene. He covered him with a light sheet and made himself comfortable.

The man poured a drink and sat on the bed. He watched the peaceful expression of that lovely face, the light shade of pink in the cheeks, the slightly parted, delicate lips and the pearly-white row of teeth, the long eyelashes underlining those mesmerizing eyes, the silky black strands falling over the clear forehead, the soft glow of the smooth skin…He touched him and felt the warmth of the young body. The Butterfly Artist looked like a living statue. The man realized how much he needed him to be awake. It was that passionate, vulnerable personality that gave that perfect body the touch of magic that surrounded it. The man took out a syringe from a small box and injected some antidote in the youth left upper arm; he then stood there, waiting for a reaction.

In about ten minutes the youth stirred. The man bent over him and kissed the soft neck right under the earlobe. Brusquely, the young man woke up and tried to push him away but the man gripped his wrists and pushed him on his back, holding him tightly. The victim moaned and his eyes filled with despair.

-I knew- he said and his voice cracked. Let me go…please- he whispered. Don’t hurt me…

-Don’t fight and I won’t hurt you-said the man calmly. The game is on me now. As you have said, the more you resist me, the more I want you.

The young man turned his head away. He shuddered under the stranger’s touch; all the bad memories locked up in the depth of his conscience were now pushing to break the locks. He stiffened as he felt the man moving relentlessly.

-Don’t…please-he pleaded though he knew it was hopeless.

-I can’t stop it-said the man rolling on top of him. Such beauty and perfection as yours should never walk on Earth among such sinful creatures like me. You are so unreachable and desirable that we can’t stop to try to tear you down. This is a curse both for you and us. I can’t stop; I have to have it my way.

As he moved forward, the young man cried out in pain and anguish. His cries broke down to sobs until all ended. He laid there on the bed, eyes closed and eyelashes heavy with tears, and for the first time, the man saw the broken butterfly. He suddenly realized that he has just broken something precious, something unique and irreplaceable. Luckily, the young man  has fallen into a deep sleep from physical and emotional exhaustion. The man gently dressed him up and called for his car. He took the youth home, undressed him and tucked him into his bed. He ordered the driver to bring the young man’s car in the parking lot. He took a final look on that hauntingly beautiful face, then left the apartment and locked the door behind him. Game over.

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The Lost Butterfly-a story of aliens, love and humans (1i)

Chapter 1i.

From Yoshiasu’s flat the collected data were sent to the crime labs. Detective Harrows talked to the neighbors; fortunately one of the ladies remembered a bulky man with strong jaws and bushy eyebrows who was dragging a stumbling young man. She gave the police the best description she could, adding some important clues to the already piling data.

Just as he expected, the lab results confirmed some of the detective’s suspicions; the blood belonged to Fuyuki but the body fluid and the unknown fingerprints lead them to a man named Jack Rogers. The guy was known to have a record of violent behavior and a number of domestic violence complaints. Each time he escaped justice because his wife wasn’t willing to testify against him.

Then, searching deeper in this guy’s personal history, detective Harrows found the piece of information he needed for the whole picture. Jack Roger had three children: a girl and two boys. His wife died years ago and the now grown-up children moved out from the family house. But in its early years of the past the Roger family had had a sixth member: a little boy named…Fuyuki. The child was reported missing when he was about five years old and he was never found. There were rumors about Jack Roger being the culprit in the child’s disappearance but despite all efforts police couldn’t find solid evidence against him.

Detective Harrows was getting seriously worried: this was definitely a dangerous guy and Fuyuki’s life was hanging on a thread.

Police traced down the Roger siblings and asked them about their father’s whereabouts but they knew almost nothing. Since they have left the family they were in no contact with him. As for their former brother, all they knew was that he had disappeared and that he was probably dead. Their old home was probably deserted and locked up. Dead end.

But neither the detective, nor Yoshiasu were giving up. Yoshiasu contacted the Roger siblings and asked them to meet him. He waited for them at the hotel where he stayed. The first who came was Janice, a pleasant looking woman in her early thirties. Despite her calm composure, Yoshiasu was able to detect that there was something bothering her deep inside. The two brothers, Peter and Michael arrived together; they were more restrained and distant. Yoshiasu invited them to  have a seat and placed some juice and coffee on the table; this looked like a difficult meeting for all of them.

Janice and her two brothers sat in silence, watching and listening to Yoshiasu. He took out two photos and handed them out.

-This is Fuyuki, your brother. The first picture was taken at the hospital shortly after I found him dumped in Central Park. The other photo was taken while he was living in my flat. Help me find him! Please!!!

Watching them Yoshiasu could see horror and disbelief washing over each of the three faces. The young men looked skeptical but Janice was deeply touched and troubled by what she has just seen. She was still holding the photos when Peter, the elder brother spoke:

-I’m sorry to disappoint you. I don’t think we can help you. We’ve already told to the police: our little brother died when he was about five years old. Our father was a strict person, there’s not much love lost between us but I’m sure he has nothing to do with this. So, you have to excuse us but we have nothing else to say.

The two men stood up ready to go when Janice broke the silence.

-SIT DOWN!- she said firmly.

-Janice?!!!

-I said sit down! You know nothing because you were too young at the time. You Peter, you were 7 at the time and Michael was 6; but I…I remember everything.

I’m sorry Mr. Tanaka that I never had the courage to speak about this, but now I’m ready to come clear with everything.

Peter and Michael watched her in disbelief. It was clear that they knew nothing and that they dreaded what might come out of their older sister’s recounting.

-Fuyuki was in fact our first cousin. His mother was our mom’s favorite sister. She died in childbirth, while the baby’s father died previously in a car accident. They loved each other but they didn’t have the chance to marry because of the accident, so Fuyuki was…an illegitimate child. Mother insisted that we take him in our family, much to our father’s displeasure. He has hated his sister-in-law but after à while he  gave in to mom’s pleas.

-Fuyuki was a beautiful baby and he grew into an even lovelier child. He was a very good child, mild, pleasant and cheerful. Everybody loved him…except father. Day by day he came harder and harder on him. Despite that, Fuyuki loved him and never disobeyed him.

And while Peter and Michael liked boy’s rough-and-tumble, Fuyuki spent most of his time in the garden, watching the butterflies and drawing them. He was gifted- a real talent.

Janice stopped for a moment; she fumbled through her wallet and took out a small, yellow piece of paper folded in four. She handed it to Yoshiasu; he unfolded it and almost cried out: it was one of Fuyuki’s butterfly drawings.

-Keep it-said Janice. I had kept it since that horrible night when Fuyuki…disappeared from our family.

I was ten years old so I clearly remember everything. I wasn’t very sleepy that night and I was thirsty, so I went down to the kitchen to pour myself some water. I walked in silence not to disturb the others when I heard father’s voice in Fuyuki’s room. The door was cracked open so I hid and watched what was happening. Father was towering above poor Fuyuki, holding the belt in his hands. Fuyuki was sobbing. Father was telling him that it was about time that he paid for all he’s got from the family…then he ordered him to get naked. He stood there with that evil smile over his face and…

Janice’s voice dropped. She stood silently for a moment then took a deep breath and continued:

-Our father…raped our five years old brother. I was so frighten that I couldn’t move so I had to watch and listen to all. For years Fuyuki’s screams and cries haunted me. I don’t remember how I got back my room; but I remember seeing him as he carried Fuyuki’s body in a blanket to the backyard. We had an old shed that our father kept  as his “personal headquarters”. Nobody dared to go there, not even mom. It was strictly forbidden.

The next day, father declared that Fuyuki was in the hospital and then we never spoke about him again. That was the day when mom stopped smiling and from that moment, her health slowly declined. Night after night,I kept hearing her crying. I married early and escaped from the hell. Mother died a little bit later. The boys moved out eventually, leaving our ”honest businessman” father alone in his fortress. He lives now in different places but we don’t keep in touch.

This is the TRUTH and I’m ready to testify against this monster that happens to be our father.

-Janice!! You can’t!- protested the boys.

-The hell I can’t! I can and I will! I don’t blame you if you don’t support me; you were too young and you knew nothing. But I knew and I loved Fuyuki and I couldn’t save him when I was a child.

Now I’m a grown-up and I won’t let father destroy my baby-brother entirely. This man is a vampire feeding on the innocents! Mr. Tanaka!-she said turning to Yoshiasu. This is my card; give it please to detective Harrows and tell him: he can call me anytime for any help. Please, hurry! Find my brother and bring him back to me. I miss him so much and for so long!

Yoshiasu left the Roger siblings to set things between them and hurried to catch the detective at work. They talked on the phone and Yoshiasu sent the data via internet. Soon after that,  detective Harrows set the search for Fuyuki and Jack Rogers in motion.

Jack Roger was put on nationwide pursuit and he was finally cornered in his hometown. The neighbors spotted him at his old house late at night; police caught him and searched the house and the whole backyard thoroughly. They found a lot of incriminating evidence of what the “honest businessman” was doing but Fuyuki was nowhere to find. Evidently, Jack Roger wasn’t eager to speak either. At the enquiries he kept smirking and saying:

-You won’t find him! Never! He’s mine!

Desperate, Yoshiasu called Janice and asked her to come down to the city to help them in the search. First hours of the morning she was already there and met Yoshiasu and the police. They kept searching for clues together. Returning there after à long time, Janice looked around and sighed:

-What a dreadful place…I never thought I’d come back here.

-Do you have any idea about a hiding place?-asked the detective. Until now, we couldn’t find anything.

-Let me see-said Janice. Things have changed here, at least some of them. Let me recall the old days, maybe I’ll come up with something.

-Please go around as you wish. But remember, time is short. Your father is in our custody for two days now which means that Fuyuki is in danger of dehydration or running out of oxygen-said the detective.

Janice took the visibly shaken Yoshiasu with her and made a quick tour of the house then they went out in the backyard. The old shed had been demolished and the whole place was leveled. Only a couple of small molds lay scattered in the yard and there was nothing else to be seen. Janice paced up and down, brows furrowed in deep concentration…Suddenly she shouted:

-Bring a police dog here! Quickly! This is where the entrance to the cellar under the old shed was. I clearly remember the tree from the opposite side of the fence to be in line with that. I’ve been here once and got caught and I cannot forget the spank Father gave me for meddling around his “private space”!

The dog was brought to the spot and in a short while, he became restless and whined, trying to dig in. People gathered and with collective effort, they unraveled the cellar door that was hidden under the  bricks of grass. The row of stairs was dark and the air was stale but breathable. The molds seen from the outside were in fact camouflaged air holes from where the entire underground facility was continuously aired. It was the dog that led them to the door of a particular room. It was locked from outside but they broke in. There was a commuter near the door-frame and they turned up the light.

Fuyuki was inside, tied to the bed and blindfolded. His breath was shallow and he had already lost conscience. Detective Harrows called for the paramedics to come as close as possible; he then untied the young man, lifted him up and carried him out.

-He’s alive, thanks God!- he shouted to Yoshiasu and Janice,  who were anxiously waiting in the yard. Go to the hospital! I’ll be there later!

The paramedics took  Fuyuki and put him an IV and an oxygen mask. Janice and  Yoshiasu  followed the ambulance in her car.

It took Fuyuki three days after being rushed to the hospital to regain his senses. Re- hydrated, rebalanced, sedated into a deep sleep to aid the recovery, he was was waking up totally confused. Through his eyelids he could sense that it was light around him and the air was clear and it smelled differently.

There were also muffled sounds around and he had the distinct feeling of not being alone in the room. Uncertain about his whereabouts, Fuyuki wasn’t willing to open his eyes. He tried to pick up the thread of his memory from the last tangible event. Well, those were disturbing events but at least they were certainties. The last customers came in pair and they played a cruel game of cat-and- mouse with him, until confused and totally shattered he fainted. After that, there were scattered moments of feverish state and darkness, agonizing thirst and deadly silence. For a split second Fuyuki hoped that he had died and that he was in a place beyond any more hurt.

But somewhere deep inside him, the grain of light refused to die out. It was the only light that had kept him alive  those days and weeks of horror. Yoshiasu’s name and the memory of his love erupted in his mind and Fuyuki burst into tears.

He woke up sobbing violently and shaking. He curled into fetal position, burying his face into the pillow. He was unable to control the flow of feelings and he was struggling to catch his breath. A hand touched him gently and the voice speaking him was soft and soothing:

-Fuyuki, stop crying. I’m here; you’re safe now. Fuyuki, please…

Fuyuki turned up brusquely, eyes wide of shock. Yoshiasu was sitting on the edge of the bed and caught his hands.

-Your father is in police custody; he cannot hurt you anymore! Never!

He embraced Fuyuki and held him close; the younger man was trying to understand what his love was saying. His sobs subsided a little and he buried his face in Yoshiasu’s shoulder whispering:

-I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I’ve tried…I’m sorry…Oh,God!…Don’t leave me, please…

-I AM SORRY!-said Yoshiasu almost shouting. I have promised to protect you and I wasn’t there when you needed me! You have to forgive ME…

-You were with me…in my mind…my only hope…

Yoshiasu sighed and squeezed Fuyuki. He wasn’t sure how much emotion could the fragile young man handle but he had to give a try; Janice was waiting for a chance to meet her little brother again after so much time.

-Fuyuki, there is someone who actually helped us to find you in the underground cell. She is waiting outside to see you. Do you think you can handle it?

-I…I think so-he nodded. His eyes lit up as he saw the woman.

-Ja…niss…-he murmured and took a deep breath.

Janice swallowed hard but it was no use; tears were running freely down her cheeks as she rushed to embrace and kiss Fuyuki.

-How?! How did you know?!-she asked incredulously.

-Your eyes and your smile are still the same, sis.

-And you’re as kind and beautiful as ever, baby-brother. Oh, how I longed to see you again…

The Lost Butterfly-a story of aliens, love and humans (1h)

Chapter 1h.

 

On the other side, Fuyuki was growing more and more concerned about the publicity around him. His talent paid well and people grew increasingly curious about the identity of the emerging artist. The fact that he was rejecting the interviews and kept secret any personal data just added to their curiosity. It was a constant game of hide-and-seek with the press; Fuyuki couldn’t come out because of his fear that his past might catch up with him and shatter his fragile happiness. He kept his anxiety and bad feelings hidden from Yoshiasu; his lover was working hard and they both cherished the moments spent together. As Angela was spending her own moments of happiness, Fuyuki turned to the only person he trusted beside his friends: detective John Harrows. He visited the detective at the police station once or twice, confessing him his fears and desperately trying to remember something useful from his past.

Things turned  bad after a few persistent journalists/paparazzi followed him and took some snapshots. The photos were published by a nationwide journal and “The Butterfly Artist” got all the publicity he didn’t need. Yoshiasu was angry; Fuyuki was still very vulnerable. They both agreed  on asking for the detective’s assistance to keep a discreet eye on their home. By the end of May, Fuyuki called the detective and complained about being stalked. For almost a week, somebody was following him; he couldn’t spot him but the feeling was strong and the young man was desperate.

The detective took him seriously but he couldn’t attend Fuyuki right at that moment,  so they agreed that he would pay a visit at home  next morning.  Arriving at the building, the detective had a bad feeling; he took the stairs two by two and found the apartment door cracked. With  the gun in one hand he stepped in cautiously; the house was empty and Fuyuki was nowhere to be seen. But the bedroom was ravaged and there were blood stains and some body fluid scattered over the bed cover. The detective called for the crime lab and then put out a phone call to Yoshiasu.

-Mr. Tanaka –he said in a restrained voice. You have to come home; I’m afraid  Fuyuki has been abducted.

***

The man at the door was Fuyuki’s worst nightmare: Father. Jack Roger was a well built, powerful man in his early sixties. A former soldier in his youth, also an amateur boxer, he was a bully. He’s been an abusive tyrant all his life and a constant tormentor for the mild and sensitive Fuyuki.

The young man’s heart sank as found himself face-to face with Father; all the horror built up and locked away in the depths of his memory washed over him and he wasn’t able to make any move. Jack Roger pushed him back to the house and slammed the door behind. He threw a short glance around then he turned his attention to Fuyuki.

-So-he said venom filling his voice. You thought you’ve escaped from me. How unwise…I saw your pretty face in the newspaper! I came as soon as possible to collect what’s mine…

Fuyuki collapsed on the bed, tears filling his eyes.

-What do you want from me?-he asked in a broken voice.

-Dress up and get back to work. You still have unpaid debts. Have you forgotten that you belong to me?

Roger pushed Fuyuki on his back and stripped away his clothes. The young man fought back but Roger slapped him hard.

-You won’t disobey me!-he hissed and forced himself upon Fuyuki.

The pain tore him from inside like a knife and Fuyuki cried out in agony. As the response was even more brutal, Fuyuki passed out.

Hours later he woke up hurt and dizzy in a dark room; he was tied to the bed. After moments of confusion memories came back forcefully; his whole body ached and his lower lip was split. The air around was stale and smelled like a cellar. He quickly guessed that the room was somewhere underground. He couldn’t do anything; at least for the moment he was helpless.

Father came and untied him, leaving him a few moments to stretch his limbs. He then grabbed him by the elbow and dragged the reluctant young man along a dimly lit corridor. They climbed a row of stairs and got…into the old house. Again and again memories came back and Fuyuki shuddered. Father pushed him in the shower, handing a set of clean clothes. Fuyuki undressed and started the water; he stood under the brisk flow and closed his eyes. Panic erupted from his inner self and he burst into tears, sobbing helplessly. Shaking wildly, he could hardly wash himself. It took him almost half an hour to calm down and get dressed. Leaving the shower he found some food set on a table but he was unable to swallow even a morsel. He hid his face in his hands, trying to scrape up some hope to survive to the oncoming ordeal.

What was about to come was  even harder to bear than before. For twenty years he  had just scarce hopes that he might be an individual and not just an object used at will for others pleasure. But now…now he was loved and he was in love. He became a PERSON, only to find himself stranded in a nightmare.

As Father walked in, Fuyuki shut his mind; he stood up and followed him at the end of the corridor. He entered, shut the door and sat on the bed. The smell around him made his body cringe. Beyond the scent of the burning incense, he could detect the well-known acrid smell of sweat and sex. He took a deep breath to calm down while the door cracked and a stranger entered the room.

Fuyuki complied with his demands avoiding to look into his face. He  shut off his spirit as the stranger took over his body.  He’d  lost the battle between his body and mind over and over again, day after day, night after night until his shattered spirit became just a shimmering light in the night of misery.

Locked up in the underground room, he cried for hours until his stomach revolted. Father forced him to eat and ended up tying him down to the bed to prevent him from killing himself.

On another location a young man was pacing up and down in his hollowed location. Space suddenly dilated around him and from one end to the other of the house there was only a void of dead silence and loneliness. For the first time of his adult life Yoshiasu was completely shattered by the sense of loss. The flat that was once his home was crushing him down with its emptiness.  He roamed around the house over and over again, touching every item that belonged to Fuyuki. He took out the drawing of “The Lost Butterfly” and watched it intently like he was trying to get in touch with his lost love.

He could barely eat but forced himself to do it in order to preserve his strength and the sharpness of his mind. He wasn’t going to give up on Fuyuki but the pain of losing him, the faceless fear of not knowing his whereabouts were cutting deep.

At night he fell into bed completely exhausted but moved on Fuyuki’s spot. He forcefully shut his eyes recalling the soothing warmth of the slender body cuddled in his arms. And he cried, broken and helpless with no one around to soothe him except maybe the faint scent of wildflowers left by his lost butterfly.

Reading “ Estelle’s Tattoo” or Why did We end up with Rape?

     Reading Paul White’s short story “Estelle’s Tattoo” is a shattering experience. As you reach the final line, it’s hard to find the proper words to leave a comment. This piece of writing is food for thought and fuel for attitude. It has haunted me since yesterday and it stirred something inside me.

   This morning I suddenly realised that Estelle’s tattoo is engraved in each young girl almost from her birth. When you are born a woman, your life stands under the shadow of being a potential rape victim. As a girl born and raised by two women, this mark was all too familiar, even if we never discussed it openly. But this status of “potential victim” was hanging in the air and became one of the main reasons for disliking my femininity. And I was not living in a war zone.

  In fact, I was born and raised in a quiet and peaceful, less complex and complicated society, with a low rate of criminality, a place where my Mom could come home from her night shift at the newspaper, walking all alone the streets at 3 am. Still, my mother and my grandmother were watching over me and protecting me as I was growing into a teenage girl from that possibility of becoming the victim of a man. So I’ve learned to watch my back, to walk in broad light and main streets, to hurry up if I a man was following me, to learn to read their glances, smiles or smirks and keep out of trouble. I grew up learning that I can be a prey so I’ve learned to avoid the hunters. This “survival kit” has grown into me without being fully aware of it. Luckily, I am an optimistic person so I didn’t become paranoid about men. In fact, I seldom gave a thought about this, once I became an adult. Until yesterday when I’ve read this heart wrenching story about rape and the life under its permanent threat.

You might dismiss this topic as an exaggeration. “Come on, this is not happening here…We are not like this”. I beg to differ when I see how the community of my fellow citizens reacted at the news of a collective rape happening in a Romanian village. Half of its inhabitants were blaming the girl for luring the boys into having sex with her, despite all the proofs that this was a premeditated act of two of the perpetrators who lured the girl into a friendly meeting, then called in their friends for the …fun.

   You might suggest that women should take defense technique training. But why would they? I for instance, I’m a non-conflicting person despite my strong opinions; I dislike any kind of aggressivity. And for what reason should I train myself in fight? Do I live in a jungle? Is that the real face of thousands of years of civilisation? What happened to us? How did we drift this far that a person has to live her life carrying that shadow of threat simply because she was born a woman? How did we end up losing the count of “Estelles” who have died and keep dying all over the world?

    We keep reading about such cases or hear about them in the media. For days we keep debating…then another shocking event sends the rape case into oblivion. Sometimes we dismiss it because we think that this is something happening only in less civilised areas. Wrong. The fact that a rape victim has tremendous difficulties to report what happened to her is the best proof that in all kind of societies there is something deeply wrong about how we think about women.

   When you learn that in all too many cases/places the victim is first to blame, when you learn that there’s “corrective rape” against lesbians, when you learn that women need to “learn their place” and so on, then you come to realise that rape is a socially/historically ingrained habit that emerged as a byproduct of human civilisation. You won’t find rape at our close relatives, the Bonobo chimps. We share with them a lot but rape is our own cultivated flaw. THIS is something to think about. The fact that rape is a cruel and criminal act performed nowadays not only against women but anyone vulnerable (Gay, Transgender or children) only puts this act in proper light.

   We need to educate this out from our human inheritance, we need to educate mutual respect and we need to cut off from the long forgotten conditions that had lead to this act.Each time when a  “ NO!” it’s disregarded, each time when someone forces itself on another one because it can, it’s à rape and and the life of the victim is brutally changed, if not taken away.

It’s a long way out of this dark shadow and the moment to start is now. We live in the dawn of a new century. We cannot let the “Estelles” to keep dying and to die in vain. We owe them that much just as we owe to our daughters, sisters, mothers, girlfriends to give them the chance to live their lives in freedom and dignity, and not as potential prey/victims.

Paul White’s “Estelle’s Tattoo” is à Must Read. You can find it here : https://alittlemorefiction.wordpress.com/

Don’t scroll down easily. Let’s break the habit and let’s erase rape from our long term inheritance!