SILENT SCREAMS – Short Story

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By Adebowale Oluwapelumi Adebusola

“Eess fine girl.” Jamal snickers as I walk past Mallam Audu’s shop. As I continue walking as if his catcalls didn’t bother me—even though it did—I hear the Mallam encouraging him. Jamal always sat at the Mallam’s place, which was at the beginning of the street . So, I was constantly submitted to his catcalls. I never understood why he was attracted to me since I had little to no endowment at sixteen.

“Bejide wait na.” Jamal jogged behind me.  His pursuit only made me quicken my footsteps . “I’m only doing this because I like you o,” he said.

“I said no.” I snorted. I always said ‘no’ that it seemed to be an anthem whenever I see him. The hair at the back of my head stood as he glared at me; long and hard .”No problem now” 

Joyous that he was off my case, I jogged happily to the house. 

There was a narrow road that led to my house and it was mostly surrounded by uncompleted buildings. Quiet also. My euphoric moment was cut short when I felt a sharp object pressed to my belly, ” Oya move slowly to that building”. I swallowed and complied, taking deliberate steps as if it would save me. I didn’t want to die. I was far too young.

If anyone saw Jamal and me huddled together, they’d think that we were a couple that couldn’t keep our hands off each other. But there was no one on the path. Jamal kicked me forward, making me stumble face down on the hard and stony ground.

I tasted blood. I decided to lie as if I was dead but he only turned  then proceeded to yank my uniform. My brain registered what was happening and I began begging whilst struggling. I started using my fingers to pull at the ground but he effortlessly grabbed my legs back. Compared to my skinny frame, he was muscular and broad.

“Jamal you can’t do this. You know my family will come for you.” I said shakily. Maybe I could delay the inevitable for a while. I still held on to hope.

He laughed mirthlessly ,” Will they now?” His hand moved to steady my knees that were jerking upwards. When I saw him pulling his trousers down, my eyes bulged. With my legs trapped beneath his weight, I thrashed his build with my fingers. 

Immediately, a sound blow in my gut had me reeling back. The tears I tried to keep at bay started pooling like a dam, “Please we can come to a truce on this. I won’t ignore you anymore. Please. Please” I begged shaking like one who had epilepsy.

Getting sick with my pleas, he shoved his leather belt firmly on my mouth. “We’ve reached the land of no return. We can’t go back now can we?” His large palms gather mine and the place them firmly above my head. I mumble incoherent word through my gagged mouth and continue crying. Hot blazing tears soiled with perspiration.

Hell hath no fury than a mentally deranged beast.

I always heard stories of rape victims but now it seemed to be my own story playing . An horror story. When he used his other hand to free his boxers, I start wailing. Heavy sobs mixed with ragged breathing. Without invitation, he delivers a sloppy kiss on my lips. I move my head sideways to escape his foul mouth. Another slap was plastered on my cheeks; the sound reverberating through the quiet building.

“Just five minutes and we’re done,” he tore my panties then penetrated me. He threw his head back in pleasure. I felt the pain permeated into my soul. My helpless scream is muffled through the belt and I was holding on to hope from my tormentor. Hope that only my eyes, tears, muffled scream and red thick blood could convey. It did not. Instead, he adjusted his weight and I felt suffocated. He pounded long and hard like a ferocious dog on heat.

In his pleasure, Jamal didn’t notice my head banging the hard ground as he continually mumbled, “It’s your fault.” repeatedly as he groped my limp body. I felt he was right. The strength had oozed out of me. He was the painter and I was the canvas. The canvas the bore the brunt of his harsh and ravenous brush. 

If I had not ignored him on impulse. If I had tried to run the moment he pressed the knife against me. If I had just fought harder. Just if…

I was slipping In and out of consciousness. But in my blurred vision I could read his lips, “…If you…stayed put..would have had a great time…asked for more…all your fault.”

Jamal had his way with me that day. Yes.  However , his pleasurable 5 mins carved a deep scar that I had to nurse till eternity . A scar etched on my existence forever.

My name is Bejide Musa Chidi and this is my story; the tinniest bit of the colossal rape incidents in an average society.

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