In the darkness...

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(Thought I'd try my hand at it!)

They're whispering again. I can't silence them, and my cries only serve to bring raucous laughter from them. Black feathers lie scattered across the cold grey stone floor, held in place with spatters of my blood. These iron shackles cut into my wrists, drawing more blood, and I've lost so much already. Oblivion seems like such a release, but I can't give in. Why? Because they can't win. They brought me here, away from my home and my daughter, fighting them every mile of the journey. They gave me to this man, who uses me at his will, then locks me here for -their- pleasure. And so they whisper, or laugh when I cry out. The broken remains of what were my pride and joy, my black feathered wings that let me soar through the summer sky, hang from my back, with feathers scattered about my feet. My dignity....gone I believe, but I hold to what I can. The lash of the whip across my back has not broken me, nor has the jibbering creature that shreds what's left of my wings. The lord's 'pleasure' has not broken me. This shall not. I cannot break....but only the darkness....if it was anything but the darkness....

-- Angel (keita@my.sanguinus.com), July 23, 2002

Answers

Ouch.

-- Kant (kant@kant.com), September 22, 2002.

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