Feral Stare

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Lookie here, the first email submission to the Photo-Fiction challenge. Take a peek and give your feedback. 😀

By Charissa Lewis

Author Bio

I am a  29 year old Antiguan National in the final phases of getting a MD Degree, presently Interning in Hospital’s in the NY tristate area. I am a long time lover of poetry, using writing as a method of creative therapy. I will lend my voice and presence whenever I can help someone who needs it or speak up against the injustices against humanity when it needs to be heard. images (26)

Staggering through the cold, city streets oblivious to the horror strickened faces of on lookers, the only thought that penetrated the dark, rank fog of her mind was the smell of sweet, free air. Tears blurred the blue & red flashing lights, she didn’t see the face of the officer who twisted her wrist behind her back & the clatter of the knife falling from her fingers were distant.

“You have the right to an attorney” ….“ You’re facing a life sentence?”… “Murder in cold blood.”… all was lost on her, she didn’t speak a  word of their language. She traced the blackish veins where HE pumped that poison into her body; when he was tired of her fighting, or he had company,  violating her body over & over  wanting  her aware enough to know what was happening.

She knew HE must have had money, the house he kept her in & the nature of the thugs he acquired her from indicated that much, but there must have been more to him than that. The throng of screaming people holding pictures of HIM, flashing cameras in her face as she climbed the imposing stairway only made the impending feeling in her gut worse.

Everyone in the large polished room seemed to be waiting for something, she soon found out why. There he was, in black robes, walking to a high chair facing everyone. He smacked a wooden hammer on his desk and everyone sat.  She was enraged. She couldn’t forget that smirk and auburn beard that would scratch her face as she laid helpless beneath him. He was one of the others.

There was a lot of talking in the polished room, except for the man in the untidy blue suit that sat next to her. She was the center of attention. Quite a few fingers were pointed at her but her eyes were glued to the black robed devil on the high bench. It was over.  As the black robed devil started to leave the room; her eyes rolled back and she slid to the floor, uniforms surrounded her searching for pulses. No one noticed her fingers closing around the cold handle of the gun.  The shot echoed through the room, screams & stampeding footfalls of panicked witnesses crescendoed.   His black robes fluttered around him as he fell, His face frozen into incredulity. Her glare of satisfaction was the last he would ever see.

She sat on the paper thin mattress staring up at the cold grey light slanting through the bars of the small window of her cell. ‘One prison for another’ she thought hugging herself ‘at least HE is not here’. She glanced around her cell to make sure.  Her eyes settled on her distorted reflection in the shiny toilet bowl, she traced the tattoo brand on her left shoulder with her fingers then looked back at her reflection. A deep glow lingered in her eyes. Her freedom was hers and no one would take it again.


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