The Write Wing: April 2013

Before placing a firm grip on the doorknob, Robert took out a small emerald bottle from his jacket’s inner pocket and forcibly opened Anna’s trembling mouth to let two drops fall on her tongue. Anna smiled nervously and lost focus in her eyes as she glimpsed at Helena before walking through the doorway.

They entered a dark place. A long and narrow gray corridor lay ahead with pale lighting and smudges of dirt on the walls. They stepped on what felt like fishnets and knocked over some bags and suitcases, and perhaps even walked on shadows of people sitting on the floor -halfdreaming- under a blanket of heavy opium smoke. Sounds of a groaning machine, a rusty ventilator perhaps, echoed in Anna’s ears. As they walked, they passed through small passages, old doors, muted sounds, cracking noises and various sealed windows with dirty curtains that barely revealed some slim, hazy silhouettes behind them. Finally, they reached the end of the serpentine corridor and took of their coats. A large bench and a small table was all that could be discerned in the foggy, barely lit room.

The four men laid Anna down on a straw-filled mat placed atop the large bench, and all sense of slow movement, cautiousness and fogginess which encircled their trip down to this far end was suddenly replaced by what became a fast and ferocious race; Anna felt the rough fabric and the straws rub against her neck as the men pushed down on her body, but she could not manage to keep her eyes fixed at one place. The men all climbed on top of her; their weight crushed her. Helena, as if suddenly awoken by a nightmare, rushed to stand by Anna’s head and placed it firmly in her hands while the men ripped clothes and untied intricately laced undergarments, Robert being the most zealous destroyer of the beautiful attire lying beneath him. The dress fell, torn to pieces, on the dark floor and Anna’s breasts, pink and round, appeared in front of Robert’s face; he paused to look at them only for a split second, then devoured them with bites of vanity, her tiny moles filling his mouth and mixing with his saliva. The other men tore her stockings, revealed her white thighs and exclaimed animal groans before one of them rushed to take her. Anna moaned in pain but her voice could not exceed that of the loud ventilator still filling the corridor. Robert turned around and pushed away the first man who fell with a large thump on the floor, then took his place while the others stood up to stare, their eyes dazed and dirty from alcohol and ecstatic in their violent lust. While Anna rocked back and forth under Robert’s weight, Helena caressed her feverish head, removing hairs that stuck on her face from the sweat. She looked deep into her eyes in an effort to soften her pain, as a midwife would look into the bewildered eyes of a woman in labor, and exhaled small blows on the feverish forehead to cool down the pain’s heat. Robert groaned with pleasure and slapped Anna’s cheeks, breasts and arms, then held her neck and squeezed it tight by pushing harder into her body; he released himself on her white, well-formed stomach and while doing so squeezed it so tight than it reddened under his fists. Anna vomited