she waited with reeling anticipation for the storm to reach its zenith,, she could tell the house was without power,, no longer did she hear the tick tock of the clock,, the refrigerator refused to whir to life,, the sum pump had ceased to pump.. yes indeed the house was without its life giving power ..and she would at last be given the advantage she had been waiting oh, so patiently for...

she knew not how long it had been,, she had lost count very quickly .. the indeterminate intervals between his visits had only played into the process of confusion..

 the bright lights all but blinding her every time he did indeed allow her entry into his sick little world,, the hot bright studio lights under which he posed her and played with her, dressed her up, and photographed her,, in all her childishly decorated glory... how many times.. how long had it been days weeks months???

she had no way of knowing....as he had kept her here... in this box.. under the floor boards... under the bed....gagged and silent..

she had been here exactly as long as it had taken her to take possession of the broken shard of mirror,, that night when she bled for the first time,, and it threw him into a rage, calling her "defiled. wanton. whore...  just like mother..."

 ..it was then that he had packed  her full of cotton and gauze and painstakingly stitched her shut...and in his fevered frenzy, to preserve his little girl,, his pride and joy...the very object of his affections.... he didn’t notice her retrieving the one long thin pointed piece of glass that fell within her reach...

 the one piece that she inserted ever so carefully into the painful packed stitched cavity,, where it had remained... cradled, protected, embraced by the gauze,, the cotton,,  baptized in the blood of her new found womanhood...

until tonight.. she had withdrawn it quickly, sharply, painfully... tonight this night when she would have the advantage of the darkness,, and the element of surprise.. as he lifted the lid,, in the dark,, she would be ready,, she would be poised,, she would spring upon him,, waving and slashing and fighting for whatever might be left of her life.....

 to finally be given this opportunity to lash out at him  knowing all the while,, she may not be able to free herself,,, but indeed drunk with the very idea of marking him,, maiming him,, hurting him,, as he had hurt, and marked, and maimed her,,,  would be gratification enough....would be worth giving her last breath for...

 she lay silently,, shard of glass gripped tightly in her hand,, the warm ooze of fresh blood between her legs and thunder rolling just ahead of the lightening that no longer frightened her,, but served to empower her and at least this once it would provide her with the darkness that would illuminate the way out... the only way.. the darkness would be her light at the end of this long dark tunnel....

 
 

inspired by:

http://www.crimelibrary.com/criminal_mind/psychology/

sex_slave/index.html