This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 13; the thirteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.




“I’ll get you, you fat fucking bitch. I bet your mom wasn’t even half of what you were worth ‘cause by seeing you all notions of a man having a baby are shattered. I bet your dad slept with a slut for a night and she conceived you. Have you ever seen your face in the mirror, bitch? I bet you haven’t. Let’s rip it off. Let’s rip if off. Haahaha, you like it? You like it baby? You like it? You fucking bitch, being a whore you are, you ought to be sacrificed. I’ve married a whore. I married a whore. Die. Die. At least let your face die. I want to tear you open, and you call yourself a beauty? Funny. Very funny, you bloody bitch.”
She lay on the floor, gagged and bound. Just like those BDSM pornos, gagged and bound, but for a different reason.
“…gly fucking Bitch, you…”


Girls are known for their beauty. I look into the mirror everyday and forget that I’m seeing my own reflection. If it were anyone else I would’ve made fun. For I moment I try to forget that it’s me whom I’m seeing. I’m happy that God didn’t give the man to see his face without an aid. If he did give that ability, I would’ve been dead long time ago. I change the channels on the television; beautiful girls with big bosoms dance with flair and show the spirit of womanhood. I look down and I can see my feet. I look down and I can see my belly button. I look down, I don’t see my breasts. I sometimes wonder, how’d another woman like me feel. Can she walk with her face high up in the air? I longed for men to see me; I longed men to follow me back home, just like they did to my friends. I wanted a date for the school dance and I wanted a date for my college graduation. All my life it was me who wanted, but it happened in the reverse with all the others. I was unwanted, uncared and unbothered all my life. I always wanted a man to hug me and wipe my tears. I wanted a man who could fight for me. I wanted, wanted and wanted. It was me who wanted the sex. Just like in the movies I wanted my man to sweep me off the floor. But I always ended up pinning him down to the bed. I don’t know whether I was great or not but he has never asked for more. Does it happen to everyone out there? I don’t know. Do you?


The bitch. She accused me of sleeping with another woman. Bloody, cock gnawing bitch. I’ve married her out of pity and now she asks me for devotion. Like a beggar asking me for a monthly salary. I’ve made it a point to never look into her eyes, never touch her and to never fuck her. I was like a demand it television package. She has it when she demands it. She’s a blob of rubber on the bed, with feats reminding me of a bulldozer in full speed. Don’t these whores have those creams and all? I’ve given her the money and the slut buys a dildo. She looked like the same black mass of coal as before. God made her out of a set of rulers; she was full of straight lines. Straight lines in the front and straight lines in the back. I sometimes had the feeling of fucking a charred skeleton except that it breathed. And what does she do for me? She accuses me. Fuckin’ bitch. If I could only sell her I would’ve done it. But who’ll buy a damaged piece? So I’m forced to keep her.


“Don’t be afraid, feel free.”
She still looked like a freshly cut log of wood.
“Are you feeling sick or something? Should I stop?”
“No… It… It’s okay”
Was it a tear that rolled down her cheek? Maybe. Who cares? I read it somewhere that tears clean the eyes. Why bother asking her why she’s cleaning her eyes.
“Okay, let’s stop here and go for a walk, only if you don’t mind”
“No.. No problem”
She blew her nose into the solemnly hidden tissue paper. Why was she even crying?
“Would like to have an ice cream?”
“N…o”
“C’mon, have one, it’ll cheer you up. Ummm… Lemme guess what you like, chocolate?”


She fidgeted on the floor, trying to free herself from the bonds on her hands. I always wanted the creases on your forehead to vanish forever. I always wanted your face to be fair like the Alpine mountains but not dark like the midnight sky. I always wanted to see the spark in your eyes. Now, what do I do? You’re like that hare on which the botox has failed. If you were a sketch I would’ve erased the face. What’s the big difference anyway? I’ll just erase your face.

She twitched and twirled and the gag muffled her groans. There’s this rusty nail on the wall which always irritated me.
Those fucking lines on her forehead.
“I’ll erase them baby poo, just don’t wet daddy’s pants. Will ya? I’ve got no new undies for you!”
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I felt like a well fed goat which was being led to a slaughterhouse. What’s the difference between me and a prostitute? Except that my purpose is more ‘permanent’. My dad said that he couldn’t marry me with the money he had. He was selling me! Then came this sweet talking guy working in the merchant navy. Money, money and money. He’d come home for four months a year. That was the fix. Anyway, getting sold is better than to rot. That’s what my dad felt. And I was sold.

“C’mon, have one, it’ll cheer you up. Ummm… Lemme guess what you like, chocolate?”
I couldn’t stop thinking of mom and dad. How much ever they hated me, I always loved them. I was with this man whom I barely know who’d be wanting to sleep with me in the two hours. He was wooing me for my body. Or that’s what I thought. But suddenly, he looked like a sensible man, just the kind I wanted. He even guessed my favorite ice cream flavor, correctly.

Or that’s what I thought, until that night when I saw the real ‘him’. I was afraid of kissing of someone. The closest male I’ve ever come to was my Dad and the last time he hugged me was ages ago. Tears rolled down my eyes, I’d be kissing someone soon. Would it be painful? I just wanted to run away. He bolted the door and came towards me with a hungry look.


She looked like a garlanded buffalo with buck teeth. She looked like a shit sucking vampire painted in black. The flowers looked beautiful than her, they didn’t add to her beauty but they just elevated their beauty. I went forward and kissed her feet. She pulled them back.
“C’mon!”
I went forward and tried kissing her on the lips. And the next thing I remember is a sharp, brain shattering pain from the groin area and a bleeding lip.


What’s he doing?
“I’ll erase them baby poo, just don’t wet daddy’s pants. Will ya? I’ve got no new undies for you!”
I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move my hands. I had the feeling that I was naked and I was cold. He beat me hard, and broke a tooth. I could hardly see what he was doing, I was in pain. He had something in his hand. Wait, is it a nail? No! No! I tried moving away but I was rooted to the spot.
“I’ll erase your lines”
And the great blinding light hit my eyes. My eyes burned as something hot poured in. Oh God! Is he killing me?


The blood seeped slowly into her nostrils and she sneezed. The gag went deeper into her mouth, probably chocking her windpipe. She widened her eyes, they were sparkling with blood. I’ve removed the crease lines on her forehead but I doubt that I’ve made a fresh set of lines on her skull. How does that matter anyway? It was like peeling an onion; I tore her skin on the forehead into four distinct pieces. Why cut them? I left them there with small sinewy tendons holding them on her face. Blood flew like a flooded river, flowing with the energy of the youth. Blood flew from her forehead, into her eyes, ears, nose and her mouth. It was a sight to see. She coughed. She was being choked to death, I didn’t want her to die. I wanted her to suffer. I’d have cut her genitals for hitting me on the crotch, but that was three years back. Who’s a man if he can’t forgive? I took the toilet bleach and sprinkled it on her head. She started reacting more vigorously. If it were someone else I’d have raped her and enjoyed the rest later. But here, who wants to masturbate with a wooden toy? Little, white bubbles sprouted on her forehead. That’s enough. She’s sparkling white too! What’s a curry without the masala?
I took out my trusted syringe, my mate for years and took out a long beautiful drag of blood into it. My blood was bubbling, I am hot! And as quickly as I could, I have my blood. The poor think wouldn’t need another blood transfusion. And I needn’t worry about her not dying soon. Anyway, I’ve donated a decent count of HIV into her blood. She joins the group.
Now a small little acid job on her face would do the job.


That night he tried to kiss my foot and by some unknown instinct I pulled it back. He was surprised. But he looked forgiving. He lunged forward to kiss me. And somehow involuntarily I pushed him away and kicked him in the groin. What did I do? I don’t know. I ran away from him, and I ran towards the door.
He was in pain and I could see that, I couldn’t see the sight.
“S….S…Sorry”
I went towards him and put a hand on his shoulder. He was bending in pain. Suddenly, he caught hold of my arm and twisted it back, he twisted it further and further till I couldn’t bear the pain. Oh please!. And my muscles gave away and the ball and socket joint became loose. I couldn’t lift my hand anymore. He slapped me hard.
“I wouldn’t have brought you home for the bloody three lacs your fucking father gave. Nobody would’ve accepted you as their wife. You’re worthless; I could sell a slave at a better price. And you have the audacity to hit me, heh?”
He beat me hard and tore my clothes. That night he raped me four times. I sat bleeding from the bottom inside a bathroom for two days. He did things he shouldn’t have done. It was then I realized that I married a monster.


“You should marry him; it’s him or nothing else. Don’t expect me to talk to you later. If you don’t marry him, then I won’t accept you as my daughter”
“Dad, but…”
My dad was harsh that day and I had to agree. After the marriage got over, he showed me two tickets to that flashy hill station. Honeymoon, he said. Dad broke down that day; it was the first time I was leaving him. I didn’t feel like going. I couldn’t even hug dad, he was paralyzed and was sitting in a wheel chair. Mom cried too. I didn’t feel like going. I felt like it was my final goodbye. I cried.
A year later I found out that he never worked in the merchant navy. He fooled in random girls and married them for the dowry and used them whenever he wanted to. If not for the newspapers I wouldn’t have known his true ‘profession’. I decided to protest. I said a goodbye to my virginity, character and my soul the day I married him.
I now lay hundreds of kilometers away from my true home, fried to death. He locked me in. I will finally die, with the maggots setting in while I’m alive. I’ll die and say my final goodbye.
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