Deborah Boydston Deborah Boydston
Recommendations: 45

Great description of the belongings of the homeless..... meager bundle of "street survival"

Leonard a. Wronke Leonard a. Wronke
Recommendations: 23

thank you Deborah...i thought it would be a great description...i am happy you thought so as well.

Please login or signup to add a comment to this paragraph.


Add comment   Close
Leonard a. Wronke Leonard a. Wronke
Recommendations: 23

THE ENCOUNTER


Share this writing


Link to this writing



Start Writing

More from Leonard a. Wronke

JUST BECAUSE
My World
LIGHT at the END of the TUNNEL
UNFORGIVEN
NO CHOICE

More Short Stories

Rebekah King Rebekah King
Recommendations: 21
Darkness
Jason Dookeran Jason Dookeran
Recommendations: 12
Nell
Elizabeth Tan Elizabeth Tan
Recommendations: 29
I Cannot Resist
Stephen Stribbell Stephen Stribbell
Recommendations: 10
Four Fundamentals of Making Acquaintances
Kaitlyne Beaudin Kaitlyne Beaudin
Recommendations: 25
She had a friend.

The night was full of rain and despair.


The place of camaraderie, a painful
reminder of what had once been.


The young woman, after introspection,
regretted that she accepted the
casually asked invitation.


It was this soul searching
that prompted her decision
to leave, alone, to find
a new sleeping place.


Since she had no friends, no family,
no one she knew, the place was
nothing but empty to her.


Though she had been of the mind to
alleviate her lonely, homeless
existence by attempting to find solace,
if only momentarily, she found it
defined, more clearly, her enhanced
feeling of being an outcast.


The drinking, merriment were
not hers to enjoy.


This feeling compelled her to go to
the door stoop, where she had left her
meager bundle of "street survival", lift
it up while she proceeded to go through
the door. 2 comments


The others, all strangers to her,
sensing her discomfort,had attempted
to dissuade her from venturing out
into the storm.


She thanked them for their concern but
left anyway, even though her clothes
were not suitable for the weather
being they were thread-worn,thrift
store,hand-me-downs.



She was so focused on her own
self reflection as she plod
onward through the thunder
and lightning, she never
saw,heard the inebriated
man who had been
following her since she
departed the safety of
the party.


His shadow blended with the darker
shades as they, both, walked the
lonely, empty streets.


The streetlights that had been a
solitary comfort to her as she
headed,hopefully, towards her
next "flop" began to thin out
until even their dim glow was
a memory of existence.


The drunkard sensing, through
his alcohol addled brain, that
the barely mature woman was
almost hidden in the rain filled
night,quickened his steps to
shorten the length of space
between himself and his
chosen "amusement."



The barely legal woman sensed,
at the last moment, she was
not alone.


Her fear not swift enough to
act and interpret the dimly
perceived approach.


His seeking hands, reached
for her miserable pack of
belongings, throwing it
aside, found the
purchase they sought upon
the thin fabric that covered
the woman's chest until the
flimsy material began to give way.


This mere sound excited him as
he further pursued his advantage
by cuffing her uncovered head,
making her entire body rock
backwards.


His voice slurred and rambling
as he verbally taunted her.


The twenty-one year old reeled
from this triple assault,
attempting to clear her
head; distance herself from
his advance.


The besotted man continued his
dominance by striking the
helpless woman,again and again,
until her senses overloaded.
The attack upon her was
faster than she could compensate.
Her mind commenced to shut down
until her body followed. The
last, coherent thought she
had was her worst fear,
to be violated than killed.


When her head, violently,
met the slick, wet pavement,
she prayed that it would
be over swiftly.


Her young life began to drift
through her pain riddled head;
the times of joy, contented
happiness that had been hers
until that fateful day when
her world imploded. The
circumstances, none of them
her doing, that brought her
to this tragic moment.


She laid upon the watery,
filth strewn concrete,
blood, from her gushing
nose, multiple cuts from
the crown of her head down
to her chin, mingling
with the purifying rain,
waiting for the final acts
that would define her
life's end.


A shadowy figure continued
to move, suddenly cautious,
as if savoring the triumph.


She allowed her mind to recede
farther, into itself, as she
awaited her fate.


The loud, tearing commotion
that penetrated the rain's
downpour was not what
the damaged woman had
anticipated.


She "steeled" herself
for the assault's
finality by closing
her eyes.



A different, male voice came out
of the storm; one not alcohol fueled.


" Here, I think. Yes, she is here."


Another gentler, female voice,
inquiring from the first,
" Are we in time?"


The coat that landed upon her
ravaged, assaulted body felt
like a comforting blanket,
both warm and all encompassing.


The hands that reached out,
were not the same. They aided
her into a sitting position.


A third voice, maybe another
male, declared, " It is well
that we took notice when this
woman left that she was being
followed. Are we of aid or
witnesses to the aftermath?"


The now grateful woman, in a
whispery croak, attempted to,
both, thank and inform her
rescuers that she was only
dazed, slightly addled,
semi-damaged but still
alive.


The original male, sensing
that the young woman seemed
to be conscious, smiled
at her.


The female voice explained,
" You need not fear any longer.
Your attacker has been subdued.
My friends have dealt with him
that he bothers no one. The only
regrets they have are they were
not vigilant enough to prevent
the initial attacks. They had
to latch unto his jacket as he
was preparing his final action,
tearing it before they had a
solid grip. We, all of us, are
sorry we were not able to halt
his tearing at your clothes,
punching you. If and when you
are able, after we give our
eyewitness statements to the,
now, approaching police, it
would be our pleasure, if we
are allowed, to see you to
the hospital for treatment."


As the sound of a siren grew
ever nearer, the young woman,
realizing that she is, now,
not to be considered homeless,
whispers her assent to this,
smiling at her three new
friends.


Link to this writing

Share this writing


Next: it is tragedy itself which makes life for all equally fair