• ﯥﺬﯥﺬײַRunawayײַ

    Nympha finally escaped. Her breathing elevates at an alarming pace. The stones and sand seemingly crack beneath her worn black and white converse. This dusty road under the pale cloudless night sky is never ending. She feels as if her legs would not go any further, they will crumble beneath her, but she must carry on. She must not look back to that place, her prison, as the distance increases, so does her hope. Her knees buckled and she fell on cold, brutal stones. Her face, hands, knees, stomach, and back wounds reopen and she flinches as the memories of the whips and chains flood back to her.
    At the tender age of twelve, Nympha was captured. Taken away from a beautiful life of school, family and friends, and was put into a dark, damp, and mouldy cellar. Her kidnappers had tortured her with starvation, physical and verbal abuse. They tried to sell her to a billion-dollar merchant, but she ran away as fast and as far as she could. She heard them speaking in rushed whispers outside her cell. They were speaking about the money and what would become of her. She would’ve been put in a smaller cell, much like a box, and would be given hard labour with little to eat. She tricked the guards and slipped out of her cell. No more, she can take no more. The past two years had been hell. Now at fourteen, she is lost, weak, starving, and near dead.
    She finally rises to her feet, and for only once, she looks back and saw no one. Is it finally over? She turns with her head hanging low and walking at a very steady pace, she tries to find home. There is no one for miles. She hears hooves at the distance. Is someone there? Hope comes rushing back to her. She looks up in hope and sees a lone horse, injured from predator animals or hunters.
    Then she hears it, out in the distance, mindless yelling of drunk men. The sound of wheels skidding across sand, and gunshots flying in the air, are racing straight towards her. She seeks refuge behind a tall and broad oak tree off the road. These vultures have come to reclaim her. Their raging drunken slurs and screaming for her to come out in mocking baby voices. She will never give them pleasure from her pain and torture any longer.
    Nympha took all the strength and courage that she had left and climbed the majestic tree. At the point of her madness, it seems she had resolved to ambush the trio, starting with the most grotesque. Just then, the branch she had decided to jump off of, driven by demonic anger, snapped and went tumbling down along with her thin frame towards the mammoth-like man.
    The kidnapper lay still under the branch. She snatched the gun and levelled its aim between the other two miscreants. She could see the fear in their eyes. The hunter has become the hunted. She laughs at their wet pants and quivering legs, she is the anti-flag unfurled. Cold-blooded and furious, she shot them both in their knees, and watches them crumble, broken, as herself. The fire in her eyes burn, with anger fuelling the flames and as she finishes the three barbarians off, she whispers under her breath:
    “You will know me by the scars I bear.”
    Nympha fell to her knees, unable to carry on. She looks around at the damage she had done and silently sobs. It is over now, but she is now totally left alone, battered, and bleeding. Nympha’s arms screams at her, and her legs give way. She falls on the rough stones, and cries her way into oblivion.
    “This is it, I am free.” She thought. Then she realizes that this is what she has been living for, to truly be free; but to truly be free, she must die.
    “Is this the home that I’ve been searching for?” she weakly whispers.
    Her body numbs, her pain subsides, and relief washes over her. This is home, finally, home. Silently decaying away, Nympha is happy, only in her death. She can feel herself, even in her death, fill with pride and joy. No one can take this away from her. No one can steal her joy, now. Yes, she is truly free.