Odious inflammatory

• Shaun Barry, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2006

She lay alone in her room, her cell. The only light was that which streamed through the small window from the unrelenting grey sky outside. It was just bright enough to see the tears on her cheeks and the bruises on her body. Her miserable, pitiable figure huddled childishly on the bed with a delicacy brought on from ongoing abuse. A deep and overwhelming sense of despair had long replaced the anger within her. She thought about the present and the future and all that came to her was the same recurring imagery of sorrow and fear. Her thoughts never broke away to the past.

The mousy blonde locks glistened in the moon’s glow. Liberta was young and so full of life, but she was not yet conscious of what she would soon discover. Age is not the only thing that can destroy ones youthful vibrancy. Yet she walked along with an air of confidence, blissfully ignorant of what lay before her. The streets were ominously quiet, but that didn’t matter to her. She was walking home from a night out with the girls and was still invigorated from the three strawberry Daiquiris she had let them talk her into. She walked along singing and laughing and enjoying herself. Enjoying herself so much in fact, that she did not notice the man following her.

Liberta checked her mobile phone for the time. She couldn’t see exactly but she knew it was sometime past one. In a rush to get home she decided to cut across the park instead of walking the road. Looking around there was nothing but darkness in every direction of the expanse, but after tripping over a rock that she could barely even see two metres ahead of herself. A cool wind swept her and she gripped her jacket tighter around herself. It was then that he grabbed her.

She awoke to harsh light and a dull pain over her lower body. “Darling, are your awakened?” Liberta recognised her husband’s inarticulate voice. “George I was raped!” After looking pleadingly at her husband for sometime and receiving no reaction she turned away. He moved awkwardly to comfort her. “Its okay Liberta. It’s all going to be okay.”

Liberta was allowed to leave the hospital and recuperate at home. The story was in the news and many reports suggested that the rapist, who had attacked a number of other girls in the area, was Middle Eastern. During the night George and his friends gathered together and threw rocks at the windows of the Arab family across the street. Initially, blinded by a lust for revenge, Liberta supported her husband’s vandalism. But after a week of nightly abuse, the family were packing to move away, and as Liberta saw this she couldn’t help but feel guilty.

After she had recovered, Liberta’s friends called to organise a day out but George hung up the phone and told her it was no longer safe for her to go out with just her friend’s. Although angry at her husband’s rudeness she could understand why he thought so.

The next week Liberta was going to go to the shops but once again her husband’s objections stopped her. She was beginning to get angry. Every time she went to go outside she was met with objection.

One weekend she snuck out while George was playing golf. When she got home she tried to laugh it off but George would have none of it. He became enraged. And then it happened. He hit her, hard across the mouth. She ran for the door but he blocked it and forced her into the bedroom instead.

Afterwards Liberta tried to divorce George. But his father was a very powerful man and no lawyer worth a damn would speak to her.

The abuse continued. It was almost daily in regularity. And there was nothing Liberta could do but to endure it. But the thoughts of resilience were long gone as she lay there alone in her room, not allowed to leave, her cell.