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They just see us. Our color. Our age. Our gender.

And then we bow down our heads in submission. We are made to.

The victims are struck with a whip-lash-like silence at every attempt to speak out. They slowly burn inside. The fire fades away but the ashes remain inside, forever.

And she becomes a broken piece. A damaged good.

They threaten us. They want to keep us low, down, silenced. There, when they need us, discarded after use. They don’t hear the voice crying in anguish. They don’t feel the pain scorching every cell in her body. They don’t see the tears, pathetic tears that pity the heart, tears themselves that feel ashamed of witnessing such abomination. They don’t hear the screams, the end of childish innocence, the destruction of timid dreams and fantasies, the death of hope and faith in her.

What they do see is her helplessness, helplessness at being a girl. And that brings a menacing gleam in the predators’ eyes. And a lecherous smile exposes teeth, waiting to attack. Eyes lusting at the poor downtrodden creature in front of them, hungry, murderous, just waiting to attack.

There’s no little voice inside them, telling them to stop. No guilt coming after the crime, no recalling of the incident at all.

No, this moment, being in power, having her begging for mercy, at their feet: now that is what ecstasy is.

There is no pleading in her eyes now. No. There’s a hard resolve there. She knows what’s going to happen. There is no way out of it. She will face it. She is brave.

Or someone will come. Someone will cast a ray of hope. Surely, someone..

And they attack.

They talk. They don’t know what it feels like. Once finished, they search for another prey, leaving the used one, to rust.

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