When you write about women, their struggles, and how brave some have come out to share their experiences in different difficult situations; fiction or not, you, (the writer) sometimes can’t help but feel every single word break you down with cracking emotions. Remorse. Grief. Angst or Malaise. Tears, crawling down your cheeks. Scribbling. Fast. Scribbling. Very fast. Like the drops of wild waters at Owen falls.
To be clear, I don’t mean to say that to sit on the readers side of the table is to find numbness, protection and/strength and not feel so much hurt. *Because, what if it is your sister/wife/mother/daughter raped?* Not my words. Peters’. Or what if the writers pathos gets into your head? To find out how I mean, read this piece on Rape by Dennis Peters. Here goes… So interesting or is it? Find out.
I am sure you have previously heard stories from grown-up women like me speaking about rape. Mostly we lie. Make it sound like we fell on our backs and our knees trembled in fear the second it happened. Nobody ever speaks about the fight we put up before these marauders let themselves unceremoniously into our thighs. Truth is I remember being scared stiff barely able to hear my voice above the sound of my heartbeat. Mostly I remember the aftermath of the whole unpleasant ordeal, my heart contracting with indefinable fear, and I lay there motionless, looking at everything but nothing. I remember hiding in my bed with my head deep under the sheets, and it was then that I heard her speak in an interview on the television. That voice, assertive and sure taking my fear, unit at a time and turning it into a fighting spirit. She was…
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