Should We Save Her? A short short story
Breathe. Just breathe. Clench your fists. Close your eyes. And just breathe.
Freedom and liberation. They’re both desired among several individuals in this city who believe in living their life without entrapment, without being held against their will.
I used to look out my window as a child and gaze at the stars while trees rustle against their branches, dancing and swaying in every direction the wind howls. I used to listen to music and dream about such an escape, wondering when I’ll be able to flee from this isolated prison that causes my lungs to constrict and my muscles to still. I thought I would die and be murdered within this house, that all my hopes and ambitions would never see the light of day.
Yet, here I am, free and alive, away from all the pain that left scars on my chest and scratches on my back. These bruises will never fade, and I’m reminded of this fact every time I see myself naked and exposed in front of the mirror that never lies.
So, why am I also trapped once again, imprisoned under someone whose presence can kill, a man whose stares can cause your body to heat and your mouth to dry? He’s brooding and mysterious, intimidating and yet despicable. He can tell you anything, whisper anything, and you will find yourself falling underneath his intoxicating spell. His voice, his muscles, his body, his stance, his tone…it’s as if he owns you, wants you, desires you.
They see him as someone who’s no good for any women in this city. He’s known to be frightening, dominating, confident, coarse, and unexpected. They say he has no right to live among the men and women in this city or, as he likes to say, he’s probably too cruel for any of them to handle.
Yet, they don’t see what I see. They don’t see that he’s more of a gentleman than what he’s perceived to be, that he’s kind, sweet, caring, and protective. His sense of humor is more than enough to make a woman laugh until she hits the floor. His warmth is more than enough to make a woman curl into his arms until she falls asleep against his shoulders. He’s angry at the world that treats him like he doesn’t deserve success, sad at all the thoughts that wander in his mind about those who betrayed his trust, disappointed at his past that continuously disrupts and destroys the present.
So when I say I’m imprisoned once again, I don’t have an urge to escape the bars he holds over me. The truth is I want him as much as I want to be free. It’s wrong, I know, to think in such a way. Yet, when he tells me to do something, I do it. When he tells me to say something, I say it. He always insist and I always comply. That is how our world works.
As of right now, he’s consciously watching me, waiting for me, testing me. He thinks I don’t have what it takes, and I’m here to prove him wrong. It’s what he does that also makes me a bit hesitant to be his. Yet, I know he has good intentions, making decisions based on what’s just.
He’s staring into my eyes as if lusting for me, hungry for my attention as I’m hungry for his. Go ahead, say I’m insane, foolish, and hypocritical. Say what you want to say about a woman you don’t know, but trust me when I say I know what I want. I know this is where I’m supposed to be.
So when he gives me a nod from across the room, across a crowd of innocent and naïve individuals who are clueless to what threatens their lives, I lift up my head in response to his gesture. He wants me to do something that I shouldn’t, knowing that I shouldn’t, but I have already accepted my fate, whether you like it or not. Now it seems as if Paris is too far to even reach, to even grasp within my tiny, little fingers that are now too vile to touch.
I get up from my seat and walk out the door, sighing in response to the chilly air that clashes against my skin. Somebody has to die today, and unfortunately, as much as I want to be free from this world of darkness, it won’t be me.