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She knelt on the wooden floor and with outstretched arms, threw back her head, opened her mouth and let out a piercing scream; a scream of absolute utter desperation. Filthy tears streamed down her contorted face and dropped, rolling one by one onto her swelling stomach. She drew in a deep exaggerated breath and with her fists began to pummel and punch her protruding bulge.

The unborn child stirred, momentarily.

The young woman screamed at the unborn entity, "I hate you, I hate you." She yelled this over and over whilst punching and striking her enormous stomach, until all her unleashed energy depleted, and she fell forwards to the floor in a dishevelled, crumpled heap.

The den was disgusting and twisted, as twisted and grotesque as the rotten planks it was built from. A single mattress was strewn in the farthest, darkest corner of the hovel, all filthy from the blood and urine stains of many hideous encounters. A small gas lamp hanging from a bent nail emitted the only light, casting eerie shadows of broken webs that spiders had once inhabited. The window was long boarded up from prying eyes and a piece of black cloth crudely hung from it, making sure that no beams of light could penetrate the slats of wood that barred it. Beneath the window a rickety shelf hung loosely, barely supporting an enamelled mug and bowl still encrusted with the remainder of a meagre meal. An old rusty tin bucket was directly below the shelf, its contents steadily leaking along the floorboards and seeping acidic putrid fluid between the cracks. A knitted blanket was tossed into the other corner as far away as possible from the tin bucket. The door to the Den had been repaired over and over so crudely that its nails poked through at odd angles, like rusty daggers waiting to ensnare its prey. A huge timber plank supported at either end by large cumbersome brackets kept the dweller of this gruesome place tightly concealed from the outside world. Although dilapidated there was no escape from this living hell of a tomb.

The woman flinched as she heard that familiar sound, the crunch of twigs breaking underfoot, the thud of the heavy plank falling to the ground, the awful creaking of the rusty hinges as the door slowly opened, then the pain of the flooding light blinding her instantly. She scrambled on all fours to the safety retreat of her comfort blanket and pulled it tightly over her entire form, wrapping hers arms around, cocooning herself.

It entered.

It walked over to her slowly at first and then menacingly wrenched the blanket from her, grabbing her by the hair and pulled her forcibly onto the mattress, face down. She hollered and then became muted by the mouthful of rotten mattress. A deformed wrinkled hand with only four fingers pulled at her skirt, ripping it down past her thighs in one foul swoop. She felt its breath on the back of her neck, prickling her very soul. Its breathing became more erratic as it undid its fly, then the sharp excruciating pain of its tool thrusting into her, stabbing again and again, tearing her flesh from within. No sound came from her, screaming was impossible, the pain was so intense that being able to breathe mustered all of her strength. Her mind slipped into unconsciousness and chose a different place for her to be, somewhere warm and safe with the luscious aroma of hot buttered toast and steaming coffee, an open log fire crackling and a kind face beaming at her.
A distant memory of how things once were, not the reality of her current situation.

When she awoke she was alone and the lamp had gone out long ago, turning onto her side she put her hand between her legs, feeling for the dull ache that had awakened her. A sticky musty smell made her heave and choke, she could feel the burning of the semen encased blood that oozed from her now, trickling into the groove of her buttocks.

The dull ache was gradually progressing its way up to her abdomen, causing her pelvic muscles to tighten, and she knew it was only a matter of time until the child was born. She hoped and prayed for a stillbirth, but could still feel the unborn squirming inside its watery incubator, so very much alive. Contractions roared through her body, wave upon wave of insistent pain with barely a break in between them to allow her to catch much needed breath. Glancing around the hovel with squinting eyes searching through the darkness desperately looking for a focus point she saw the grim remains of her last pregnancy. The tiny fetal skeleton that had rotted before her very eyes, bringing back the terrible flashback memories of what it did to the child. The awful way it grabbed the baby by it's leg and swung it around, laughing hideously, then hurling it against the far wall, cracking it's skull on impact. The memory overwhelmed her causing tears to flood back. Why? What was it's motive? Why get her pregnant again? Was it just to murder? Was she it's toy? Maybe she could suffocate the child, at least it wouldn't suffer by its disgusting hands, thoughts ran a mock, until the final massive contraction urged her to bare down and push uncontrollably.

Then silence, a silence she had prayed for.

She pulled away from the mess that had erupted from in between her thighs, digging her heels into the sodden mattress and heaving away. It seemed an eternity had passed but then a drawn in breath and an exhaled cry filled the hovel. Horrified, she intrepidly took a peek at the small form whose arms and legs were flailing blindly. It was a boy, the last had been a girl, and only survived a few hours until the brute had slain her. Her heart softened and she quickly drew up the small mite and offered her breast to him for comfort.

He suckled and she wept.











Comments

The following comments are for "JULIE (Prologue)"
by lala4nunu

Awesome beginning
Wow, that really blew me away! Great descriptions that really set the horribly, depressing mood. (I mean that in a good way.) Great story so far and I really look forward to its' next installment. Also, the story was well place and interesting. I can't think of anymore praise to throw at you---So that will have to do.

( Posted by: Richard Dani [Member] On: November 25, 2001 )

Nice job
This little piece was worth the read. It's good (edging into the realm of great).

( Posted by: Jack [Member] On: December 15, 2003 )





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