The day is bright and sunny. I walk into the café, accept the coffee I order, and choose a table by the windows, setting my handbag down on a vacant chair. I would get a sandwich too, since this is my lunch break, but I have lost my appetite forever ago. I blow at my drink to cool it down and take a sip. The warm liquid glides smoothly down my throat. It is refreshing, creamy, and delicious. This is the only time during the course of my day when I can be truly alone and try and forget about everything and everyone and think about nothing. But, it seems like today might not be one of those days. As soon as I sit down, I am robbed of any peace of mind I could hope for. Right next to my handbag, I see that horrid thing has appeared out of nowhere: the knife, blood-stained and covered in my blue silk scarf.
My heart pounds. It wasn’t there a second ago. The muscles in the back of my neck tighten, and I nearly forget how to breathe. Stiffly, I train my gaze outside, onto the busy streets, focusing on anything but that horrible thing. The people hustling. The hawkers shouting. The homeless begging. But I can’t stop thinking about it. Why does this keep happening? Why? I don’t know when this will stop. It follows me, taunts me, haunts me, catching me off guard every single time. And I can’t bring myself to look at it. This is my own personal ghost. I wish it would leave me alone. It always makes me want to cry. That’s what I want to do the most right now: cry. But I have learned to control it. If I ignore it long enough, it will go away. It always does.
It will go away. It will go away. It always does. Please.
Ten agonizing minutes later, only when I am done with my coffee, I dare to look again. Holding my breath, I strain my eyes back to my handbag, and that horrid thing beside it nowhere to be found. My breath rushes out automatically, but I am still tensed. I shouldn’t dwell on this anymore. I can’t let it derail my day. I decide to leave the café and walk back to work. My lunch break is almost up anyway.
The gallery is filled with stunning works of art, dazzling colours splattered across the walls around me. But even at my place of work, happiness or comfort are not my refuges. Like my appetite, it is another thing that I have lost over time: the ability to dream. I find it hard to lose myself in these paintings that would once help me escape to different, more exciting worlds. They seem lifeless and dull now. Through my eyes, at least. Perhaps that is why I haven’t been able to sell a single piece this month. I am afraid I might lose my job over this, and then where would I be? This already feels like rock bottom. There cannot possibly be anything lower than this.
My colleagues, my friends, often ask me why I look so lost, spaced-out, whether everything is all right, if I need to see the doctor and how my absent-mindedness makes me put on the wrong kinds of clothes in the wrong weather. But that’s not absent-mindedness. It’s purposeful. But I can’t tell them that. It doesn’t matter, because all that I ever give them is lies. I cannot unload the truth onto them. It is my secret. It is my fight. A fight that I am losing, but mine alone. I do wish I could tell. There is a chance that it would help right everything that is wrong. But I cannot, because there is also a chance that I would get into deeper trouble. I must suffer this alone. I must take it to my grave.
This is my life now. Full of dread and danger.
Thinking about all this, about the burden that crushes me, makes my eyes prick with water. I rush frantically to the washroom for privacy. Before anyone of my colleagues can see the tears well up in my eyes, I get safely inside. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, and I look scared. I look more scared and more broken than I was the day before. Only, this is not me. This is someone who is giving up, who is drowning and doesn’t have any fight left in her. This is someone who is living with a terrible secret that is slowly killing her. I blink the tears from my eyes as they streak my cheeks on their way down. I don’t want to be this person anymore. I am tired of her. I want to be me again. Maybe I should wet my face a bit; that might wash away this deadened person that I have become and show me who I really am. Who I used to be. I reach for the tap to turn it on, and I gasp, whipping my hand back reflexively. Because lying in the sink is the horrid knife: blood-stained and covered in my blue silk scarf.
It’s back. A scream starts to launch from my mouth, and I have to slap a hand against it to cut it off. Stumbling back into the door, I slide down against it, whimpering. But the sound is just building in my chest, like water ranging against a closed dam. It is excruciating, my throat burning like it’s on fire. Suppressing it is pointless and more painful than the alternative, so I let go, let it all out and scream into my hand. The screaming gives way to shuddering, which gives way to sobs. My entire body shudders from the core in a bout of crying I am not the least ashamed of.
If it were up to me, I would not get up from the floor, but stay here till the end of time. But I know I mustn’t. It will arouse suspicion. Many minutes pass before I am able to do it, but even then I have not stopped shaking. My cheeks are too damp, my eyes too raw-looking. I don’t think I can keep myself from screaming again if that thing in the sink is not gone after all this time, but when I check, I see that it has. It’s gone, but it will return. That I know for sure. I fix my face in the mirror, straighten my clothes, and get myself out of the washroom as quick as I can.
I don’t know how I survive the rest of the day, but against all odds I do. When I clock out in the evening, I take a taxi. My heart-rate climbs higher and higher the closer the get home.
At the front door, I gingerly turn the key in the lock of the front door, not making a sound. And when I step in, I see only darkness. Good. My husband is not home yet. But where that should make me feel better, give me sigh of relief that I will have some time to myself, it doesn’t. It only gives a new lease to my panic. He won’t be happy if I squander this extra time that I have. I shouldn’t waste even a second of it. I have to get the dinner ready and lay out the table. My hands quake as I go about everything, but I push through it, knowing that if I don’t I will regret it.
And I don’t want to regret it. I don’t. I really don’t.
When the clock strikes seven, the front door unlocks right on the hour. My husband walks in. No, he stumbles in. I don’t need to be near him to smell it. Even from across the room I can. Whisky. No less than three doubles. The first thing he does, as is his wont, is head to the fridge to pull out a beer. My scalp prickles with fear when he enters the kitchen. I cannot be around him when he’s in this state, so I softly welcome him home, then duck my head and shuffle out of the kitchen, heading for the bedroom.
When I get there I sit at the dresser and pretend that I have something to do here. In the mirror, I study how my lips have started to wobble. I won’t cry, I can’t, yet my body is anticipating it. I can’t seem to put a stop to it, no matter how much I try to steel my nerves. I also notice how my neck doesn’t seem as red as it was this morning. I crane my head to get a clear view of the bruises that streak my skin under my chin and ears. More flesh coloured now. They are healing, slowly. Usually, my scarf would cover the damage, but I am home now and there is no need for that. The scars on my arms are taking longer to heal and they keep me up almost every night, smarting with an electric pain. Cigarette burns are worse, I suppose, as opposed to brutal rough hands. I must wear long sleeves during the day, even when it is sweltering outside. I sweat profusely, but what other choice do I have?
I make a silent prayer to every God, any God, that is willing to listen to me. I don’t want new scars. I don’t want new marks that I have to cover up when I go out. What I want tonight is to be spared.
Just one night. One. Tonight. Please.
I don’t know what makes me do it, but perhaps subconsciously, I reach for the top drawer of the dresser and pull it open just an inch. Through the opening, I can see some of the blue fabric lying inside, and wrapped inside it is that horrid thing. Long ago, I thought stashing it here, close at hand, would make me feel safe, plant a seed of strength and courage that would grow and blossom, see fruition, one day. But who am I kidding? I will never be a hero. There have been many opportunities when I could have used it, but I have never dared pick it up in defence. It makes sense, because courage isn’t what I have now. Once, long ago, I used to, but not anymore. All that I know now is fear.
Crippling, shattering, paralyzing fear.
Suddenly, the door bursts open, and I jump to my feet, turning to see my husband leaning against the doorway, unable to support himself upright. He burps. He hollers something across the room, but it is unintelligible to me, his speech sluggish and slurred. When I don’t respond, he grunts and staggers into the room, lurching with every footstep. He repeats himself and this time I hear it clearly. He says he wants to make love tonight. I swallow, hard. He looms over me, and a chill runs down my spine, into my very toes. His breath is sour; I flinch from it. He takes one last swig from the beer bottle and then tosses it over his shoulder. I hear it, but do not see it, shatter on the floor, into many tiny pieces. I will have to clean that up later.
A hand shoots out and grabs me roughly by the neck. I gasp, looking up into my husband’s soulless eyes. They are bloodshot and dancing with manic energy. Didn’t you hear me? he hisses. He wants to make love right now. I keep my arms limp at my side–if I even so much as twitched them, I will die. I know it. I squirm, start to tell him that perhaps we should eat dinner first, my voice strangled in his grasp. Before I even finish speaking, his face darkens. He swings his free hand across my face. I failed to see it coming, and my face is so desensitized I can hardly feel the pain, but it knocked the breath out of me and I struggle to drag it back in. There will also no doubt be a fresh mark on my face in the morning. But this is worse because make-up won’t cover it. I will have to call in sick. Maybe for a few days. Did I say I want to eat? he snaps. He wraps both hands around my neck now, squeezing my throat. I can’t open my mouth, but I can still shake my head in response, though barely. A tight pressure builds in my head, and I start to feel dizzy, though I’m not moving at all. My eye-sight wanes.
I know I should give him what he wants without another word. That is the logical part of me speaking. Before he can wrench me by the hand, mark me black and blue and drag me there by my hair, I should undress and lie on the bed and let him take me. Like always. There will be less plain, I will be obedient and he will be satisfied. I know this, but all that I do is nothing. Like always. Why? Why can’t I say no and defy this man? Why am I being so irrational?
In my peripheral vision, as everything grows dim, I catch a glimpse of the mirror, and I hate the person I am looking at. My husband was not this man before we married. I loved him once. He was kind, loving, considerate, but that does not concern me now, because I do not hate him. The person I hate is this woman; this woman who allows herself to be used and abused time and time again with no intention of improving her situation. It is this woman who deserves my hate. This sad, pathetic woman who is being strangled to within an inch of her life because she is so scared of the possibility that something might happen if she lifted a finger. I do not even pity her. How can I? You can only pity the helpless. And the thing is, this is not new. This man has done this before. And he will keep doing it night after night, over and over again, mistaking this woman’s silence for submission in a vicious cycle as she waits for something to change, until she can wait no more and runs out of time. Which is why she must decide to stop submitting, and rise. And she does. More than anything, she wants to rise.
And that’s when I realize it: doesn’t my reluctance to say yes already qualify as an act of defiance?
Of course. Of course it does.
My vision nearly going dark, I reach behind me and go by feeling. I slip my hand into the open drawer. I feel the smoothness of the silk under my fingertips, and beneath that, my secret weapon. Gritting my teeth, I close my fingers around the handle and lift it out.
I don’t think about it. I just do it. For the first time in my life, I retaliate.
I thrust the knife blindly, without looking, without aiming, without caring. My husband screams in my face, a tortured scream; his eyes pop out of their sockets. The blade has sliced deep down the length of his forearm, cleaving the flesh with a sound I can almost hear, a sound that almost sounds gratifying. He grimaces as the shock twists his features and his fingers spring open, releasing me. Spluttering, I massage my stinging neck; his fingernails had dug deep. He reels back, clutches his arm to staunch the bleeding, stunned. It is written across his face: pure disbelief; he can’t wrap his addled mind around it. I am sure the same expression is written across my face as well. For a small fraction of a second I am too frightened by my own doing, though I don’t regret it, so afraid that I have just made things worse for myself that my fingers spring open nervously. The knife falls and hits the floor with a metallic clang.
I expect him to fight back, to make me pay for what I just did, but he doesn’t. Instead, slowly, shakily, dazedly, he teeters to the corner of the room. His arm is wet and his fingers slick red, blood dripping freely over the floor. He trips over his own feet and collapses backward, writhing and bursting into tears. I watch him whimper and moan like a wounded animal. I stare at him, amazed, unable to look away. I cannot describe him properly now, because I have never seen him like this, so small and weak and frail. Pathetic. When he looks up at me, I meet his teary eyes, holding his gaze, and for the first time in ten years, I see them filled with something I am all too familiar with.
Crippling, shattering, paralyzing fear.
As I stand numb and dizzy, yet somehow in control, the dynamics between us realign.
I feel a smile inch across my face. My eyes drift to the piece of glinting metal on the floor between us. Finally, that thing has become what it always wanted to be: blood-stained and covered in my blue silk scarf.
———-
© Amaan Khan, May 24, 2018.
Brilliant building of tension and great use of visual imagery I could see the scarf and the knife …
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Really? Wow, thank you! It’s amazing to hear that! I’m am so glad you could appreciate this story. Thank you! 😄😄😄🙏❤
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I am shocked at how tense and anxious this story actually makes a reader feel.
Micro, indeed. That’s something I’d like to practice more.
You’ve taken every cell and brought this woman to life and abolition.
Of course, having been do deeply hurt, the only self-defense she’s got left is herself, that whom she already hates, who has nothing left but a knife in her hand and a symbol of her voice & her blues above her husband’s blood; elegant juxtaposition of symbols.
Thank you so much.
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Oh wow, hey there, thank you so much for this. I don’t know if I’ve deserving of this amount of praise. I just tried my best. Nobody really could inhabit the mind of such a woman in distress. I hope I did at least some modicum of Justice to the topic of domestic violence and women empowerment. Thank you so much for those kind words. I really really appreciate it. 🙏🙏🙏🙏❤❤
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I was so gripped by this until the very end. You are a very talented writer. I’m following you to make sure I get to read more of your work in the future to feed my selfish need of reading a good story 🙂
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Oh gosh, okay wow. I am so humbled to hear that. Thank you so much. I do hope I don’t disappoint. I am happy to be of service! Thank you!! 🙌🙌🙌🙌🙈✌
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Great writing
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Hey there! Thank you so much! Much appreciated!!!! 🙌🙌🙌😁👍
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Followed you for more..will check out old posts..over time
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That is awesome! Thank you! I do hope you like what you find. 🙌🙌✌👌
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wow! excellent writing and use of mystery and tension…nice twist on the ending.
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Hey, that’s awesome. 🙈🙏 Thank you so much. So glad you liked it! 😁😁😁✌
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Descriptive writing is awesome! It’s like you are there and can see and feel what is going on with her. Great job!
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Ohh 🙈🙈 every time I get these comments I’m always blown away by how nice and kind you guys are. Thank you so much. That means alot. I’m so happy you were able to feel the story as you read it. Thank you!!! 🙈🙈❤❤
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This is really awesome! Superbly orchestrated! Even I have so much to learn from you! Keep up good work and all the best! 🙂
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Oh wow. No, you are awesome. Thank you so much. I think we all have something to learn from everybody! Thank you!! 🙌🙌🙌❤
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You did a great job with this story! All the little details you added give the story a lot of depth. For example, when she was in the coffee shop, I didn’t realize how important it was that her neck tightened, but at the end, it all makes sense. Great job building suspense!
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Hey there! Thank you so much! Yes, I did hope everyone got those little hints. I’m glad you got it! Thanks so much! I’m so glad you liked it!!! 😁😁😁😁🙏🙏🙏🙏
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Excellent craftsmanship and a solidly good story however dark. I read, the knife as a symbol of how the roles in that abusive relationship have switched at least for that one time.
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Thank you very much 🙏 yes dark, due to the nature of the domestic violence topic, and even i hadnt thiught of the knife symbol in that way! Woah! It’s so interesting that you should interpret it like that. Nice perspectives. Thank you so much!!! ✌✌😁❤
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My first thought was that she should call 911, but is there a 911 where she is? Where is that? Scenes like this are taking place all over the world, so why one particular country? And it happens in all ethnic groups, so why mention theirs? This gives the story a universal quality and stands as a powerful statement of women’s rights.
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Yes that’s too true too, and she reads calling or asking anybody for help will get her into deeper trouble and anger her husband further, which is why she never told her colleagues as well even though they asked her all the time. 😔😔😔
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Wow!
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Oh thank you!! Much appreciated! 🙌🙌🙌❤.
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you have got the power to enter into another one’s thoughts, there emotions etc.
how can you do that?:)
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Oh my. 🙈🙈 I have no idea. Idoubt I can really do it. I just try my best to become another person. 🙌🙌🙌✌✌
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yes you can really do it 🙂
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I will accept that 🙏🙏🙏🙏 thank you so so much! 🙈🙈🙈❤❤
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Hard to express the feeling…
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🙏🙏🙏❤❤✌✌
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This was so amazingly gripping. The building anxiety seeped in way too deep. Abuse and Post marital rape: something people don’t talk about very often, or even to this length.
Greatly described, bravo. 👍
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Hey there! Jeez wow, thank you so much. 🙏 That’s true it’s rarely talked about. Something needs to be done about it, ASAP. I really appreciate it. Thank you so much for reading and liking and commenting on it 🙌🙌🙏🙏
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woah! Simply Amazing.
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Thank you very very much!!! Thank you! 🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌
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very good story I can’t wait for more I will be following you
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Oh hey there! Wow, thank you so much! Really appreciate it! 🙌🙌😁✌❤
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wonderful post..do check out my blog too https://thesoulstories.wordpress.com/ follow if you like..:)
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Hey thank you so much! And of course! 😁😁🙏🙌
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thank you..:)
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✌✌❤👍
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You drew me in, I couldn’t stop reading. Awesome work writing from a female POV, too 🙂
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Oh hey there! Thanks so much! I’m really glad you enjoyed it! 🙌🙌😁😁✌✌
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Awesome
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Hey there! Aw, thank you so much! I really appreciate that! ❤❤❤🙈🙈😁😁
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Very tense, and dark. I enjoyed that.
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Hey there! I’m so glad you enjoyed it! I really appreciate that! Thank you so much!!! 🙌🙌🙌😁😁🙏🙏✌
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Loved this one! ♥️
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Hey there man! Thanks so much!🙏🙏 I’m glad you liked it! 🙌🙌✌✌
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Really appreciated the tension buildup. As a writer myself I can appreciate the thought that went into it! Keep em coming! Followed you. 🙂
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Hey wow, thanks so man! Only fellow writers can appreciate the nuances of this art. Thanks so much! 🙌🙌😁😁🙏✌
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You’re welcome! 🙏
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🙏🙏🙌🙌
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That’s really wonderful the way the narrator describes her thoughts! Indeed a good micro fiction!
Thought it’s a horror fiction seeing the title. But although not horror, it’s chilling, isn’t it!?
Thank you for the story!
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Hey man, wow thank you.🙏🙏 Yeah it’s chilling as heck, and unfortunately so. Really appreciate you reading and liking! I’m glad you did. Thank you! ✌✌✌🙌
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Interesting story so shocking and disturbing. Anand Bose from Kerala
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It really is. Unfortunately the reality of our world. Thank you for your appreciation. 🙏🙏🙏 It means a lot !! 🙏🙏❤❤
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My first reaction when it ended was HOLY SHIT!!! The suspense was intense… I loved it…
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Hey, thank you so much! So glad you enjoyed it! 😁😁😁🙌🙌🙌🙌
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You got into her head…hell, you got into MY head. Not that I have ever gone through what your character went through in that way…but man. I felt her anguish, her pain, her terror.
Terrific writing.
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Thank you very much for those kind words. 🙏🙏 My aim was to just give light to this global issue that never seems to be resolved. I just hope I’ve been able to do that. Much appreciated. ❤❤❤
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Amazing writing in this story!
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Hey there! Thank you so much! 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏So glad you liked it! 🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌
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You’re very welcome!
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😁😁😁😁✌✌✌✌
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Hello Amaan, I am left without words after reading this story of yours. It is so magnificently written, a marvelous condensed account of feelings and actions. The increasing tension could not be better described. You are so observant and empathic as to deeply enter another person’s mind and, moreover, a woman’s. Love how you master the description of the psychological and physical sensations and damages an abused person feels . You remind me of Patricia Highsmith’s ability to do that. As a reader I felt I was deep inside the story. BTW, thank you so much for the follow of my humble blog.
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No, I should be thanking you. 🙏🙏🙏 Thank you for these kind words, I simply try to do my best, whether I do indeed hit the mark is for anyone else to decide. Just wanted to write about this serious topic and start a discussion, spread awareness, etc. It’s truly worrying. Thank you so liking and commenting. I and all the women like this protagonist appreciate your support. ❤❤❤❤✌✌
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🍀🌈☀️❤️
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🙌🙌😁😁❤❤
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Well what can I add as everyone has pretty much said it. Let me just add my own admiration for an amazingly gripping and emotional rollercoaster ride through your story. It is so powerful and descriptive, I was transported into the story. I look forward to going back through your blog to be entertained by some more of your work.
I would also like to thank you so much for taking the time to like my posts, I really do appreciate that. Have a wonderful day 💜
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Oh no, I really appreciate YOU for this! Thank you so much! Those words are really kind. 🙏🙏❤❤❤ My only hope is that the price starts a dialogue and keeps it going for a long time, even if the dialogue is just either oneself. That’s also crucial ✌✌✌✌
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Wow powerful stuff! Great read!!
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Oh thank you so much!!! 😁😁😁😁😁😁😁
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Amazing short story – gripping and descriptive storytelling!
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Oh, thank you so very much! Thank you! Im so glad you enjoyed it! 🙏🙏❤❤❤🙌🙌
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Great work. You induce great tension. I’m currently doing a degree in script writng and will enjoy reading more. (John)
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Hey wow, thanks so much! That’s awesome! Really glad you found it intriguing 😄😄 really appreciate you saying so! 🙌🙌
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Great job! When you suddenly realize that the story is told from a female point of view, and that you’re going to be raped by your abusive alcoholic husband… well that really gave me shiver and disgust and fear, as if I were really there… fantastic job!
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All I can say is thank you 🙏🙏🙏 I’m unfortunate that people have to feel that way.hopefully this disease will be eradicated sooner rather than later. ❤❤❤
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Let’s hope so!😉
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Fingers crossed ✌✌✌
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I’ve enjoyed your story. A gripping tale. You did well writing from a woman’s perspective. Reminds me of Daniel Dufoe’s Moll Flanders. Keep writing ✍️.
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Oh thank you so so much! I’ve actually not heard of him but I’m about to check it out right now! You’re awesome! I’m so glad you enjoyed it! Thank you!! 😍😍🙏🙏
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Wow! Well written, Amaan.
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Hey there! Wow thanks so much! I really appreciate it! 😃😃😃❤️❤️
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