In Mycenae, Greece, time grieves in a burning fire. He’s heared girls’ laughter, flirtatiously cause of his reproach to remptation, a room tucked beneath the stairs. There is a room tucked beneath stairs because this is where the fire pit is adjacent so wind carries smoke away. It is the only room that does not smell of time crackling in the cauldron of fire. Centered around its constructs, it is a well designed speaking area for the house. It was late. A fire burned. Paris would need his Helen, should he see her in his search to her in this later hour in the night. He could soon learn her importance, kept by all Spartans. Already, it was not a matter, a bloodshed was going to come; that, entering the room at this flirtatious hour with darkness he finds Hestia and Helen, together lay on a bed of lilac, bared backed and kissing on each other. The fire in the pit bursts a pop of spark, and then a crackle.
The silk trade in Italy, where travelers have come now to Venice; detouring, on the road of the silk trade, heading East. Tiresias, a traveler, is among the bazaar. Roman soldiers stand guard at every shop, stall and corners. He is flirting with the dangers of soldiers having heard of his travels to the east. His black skin looks of the thieves posted soldiers are to bleach from Venice, that street rat. Officers ask for payment, “taxes” for which never reach Cesar, even if requested or they were paid in blood. He does not travel in his lonesome. Spotting a girl, fair and tight face, he leaves his crowd for her slip from the eye’s sight. She was luscious and young. He shall follow her, as fool to the well; well outside commoners in and at the bazaar. A beggar, wrapped in a shroud, stops him. “You will fall to love! Don’t! You will fall in love with her, and there is danger!” Tiresias rips away from the fortune-telling beggar to continue her lead to where the mysterious girl had left the bazaar’s commoners in their business of trading. To set the mysterious beggar back among the ground, it is thought that it had to be the Roman way to where they are to belong.
“Who is it you seek,” Persephone asks. Her naked hand disbursed beneath the water’s surface, refracting a divine light.
“The same beauty, that was lost from mine eyes,” replied Tiresias, considering approaching closer.
“Well you find such, as a well,” Persephone mused. She looks up from her making a torrent in the well.
“I tell of a quest, to find our end at the end of…”
“Road,” Persephone stopped him, and in her continuance, “I know what it is, you seek… the silk road…”
She remember her knee hit the floor. Bob slowly falling beneath the ground where she would lay, like pulling from his pocket on that day a box that contained her ring. Whence her hip followed suit, so hard that the lights in the apartment room below flickered off and on; and, had they shuttered back to life, the lights in her eyes, they shook both ways as her head ricochet off the carpet floor. Blood flowing into her eye, he slapped her so hard. She began, or she tried beginning to cry. Her stomach convulsed so tightly she barely should open her eyes to ringing; but, the streaking white lights blur through her vision. Bob descends unto her, with poise like how he had back when he has asked her to engage in civic marryment. He lifted up her shirt with one finger, slowly; three fingers point back at him. Bob, reaching the lower ribs beneath her rising shirt, forced a breath into her lungs with his knee on her rib cage. Between her breasts he leaves gasps for just air. She could feel only tightness, consticted blood in the pelvis beat within her like the bottoms of her feet, where ankle-strength surges like being plunged into ice water. She was as a slave in shackles, feeling the grips of life racing from her and a cold grasp of death, gripping.
“I love you,” Bob said. She would not plead with him. He was trying to forcibly calm her, could before having let out even her smallest sobs. Her body began to loosen a trickle of blood, flowing from her hot face and in through her ringing ears. She finally let out a painfully, long yelp. Bob grabbed her by the face with his palm, “Wha’s all of the Hub-ub. I love you,” he said sadistically. When she began to start making sounds of life, he grabs her chin with his whole hand. Now, palming the entirety of her face like a darkness, he is shaking with vigor. She never bled from the mouth; simply, he mastered slapping women having many times to practice beating on her. “What’s all the hub-ub,” he prodded. He slides down her sides to remove her shirt. He took off her bra. He unbuttoned her pants, and he took from his body his own shirt. Something about seeing her body laying there, helplessly turned him on in-a-way which caused him to become erect.
As her body began to cringe, Bob’s other hand slid around the other side of her naked rib cage, under where her shirt once covered, and lifted her to a seated position. He found the bruised spot in her ribs; where, he once found a weakness here, in her now healing older wounds against his sexual assault. His other hand was on the outer sides of her clothes, and he pulled her close to shush her. Tears were rolling down and from her face, and causing her make-up to streak as she was a dying clown. “Shut up,” he quieted her. The tears began to become a torrent, the river of her whimpering calm throughout her knowing how quickly Bob should start to choking her. She wanted atleast one feeling for her memnory of what it was like being raped, again. This happened thus many times previously; that, her confidence was finally becoming strong for finally reporting the rapes. Enough that the police will believe the Sabean’s story; and, her knowing what was to come would have to be a believable story, for her to tell about the toll it will have on Bob’s prominence in society. How it will prevent her from ever having seen its delivery form the horizon.
She had yelled. She recognizes her unheard screaming. The world did not so much a lurch when she hit the floor. It is suprising that the police had not shown. Still, he lay her back down, waking from her sleeping beauties his pulling her underwear from her sweaty thighs, and then her pants. The cold air on her rigid body went all but limp, because her socks clinged to the very ounces of strength she could muster. She closed her eyes. As he slid down his pants to lower hisself atop of her as a python would if not recognizing her life, heavy enough to cause all of the old bruising surround her ribs to pang, pangs of pain causing her eyes to open. Though, her intense and emphatic, all but hope is forced from within her. He sprawl on her slowly, loosening the grips of her legs around him, him beginning the enjoyment of sex. Not yet, without morals… no; it was not time to suspect that she was trying to enjoy this process, too — only in his final freedoms she would allow the monster. She begins to trebuchet in her mind as he pried her legs open again, and again. She had not had a strength more to push against his sweat heavy body.
There was a heavy, loud pounding that came from the door. “THIS IS THE SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT! SOMEBODY NEEDS TO ANSWER THE DOOR,” a voice called through the door. Bob, hearing a voice and ignoring it, obviously was content with not having the explanation able to explain what was taking place. Or, he was not going to have a story for keeping his going to jail. She looked up with her eye full with blood. Her other eye looking to God. Her bruised body where Bob had taken bars of soap in a pillow case, beat her nights prior so that she would not bleed. He kept raping her, but she could no-longer scream. She was balling, now that help had arrived. Her mouth had already been dry, any sexual activity causes the throat to constrict. Bob put his hand over her throat to keep any stray screams silent, and stops her from being able to let help in. She could see his many shades of gray, preying on fear for telling the story to the police, and force her to stay here longer. He kept on keeping on.
“THIS IS THE POLICE, AND SOMEONE NEEDS TO ANSWER THE DOOR,” called a second voice that was female. There were additional voices heard, that originate from the girl’s the apartment complex, whom gathered infront the door where screaming had come, thence about to get caved in. [SMASH!] Like an Incredible Hulk, the male officer entered into the apartment, Guns drawn to kill! The female officer following through with as many other cops she knew could provide cover for her, behind her. In the mean time, she administered her recently acquired training in domestic violence. They came in, in a bee-line fasion supported by male officer. The first officer slammed into Bob like a tsunami, knocking air out of his lungs and stopping the rape. He was ontop of the man with his taser out, because he had put his pistol away faster than a duelist. “STOP RESISTING,” one voice screamed into the ear of the man, whom attempted a struggle. The female voice tried again before the male officer was forced to tase the man. The woman quickly became aware that there were, now, other men now in the room. Known by the woman’s memory, only as rapist, she cringed at the men and tried to crawl backwards and away. Apparently, quickly aquainted with her hallucinations, the risen memory, and that location in her mind where there takes place a counsel of legal matter.
“It’s okay, you need to be able to talk to me. Can you hear me,” the female officer began her role play. There was not a tone of subtelty in it, and there was no time to be patient with the woman. “I need you to tell me your name, so I can talk to you,” finished the woman with long drawn-out, semantic emphasis. The woman was still in shock, and her face was pale beyond white. Her dialated pupils still black with nebula, hysteric mania being unable to regain calm. Some expected her to have to be pulled from the appartment screaming in curses and profanity. The wild woman thought she would have the strength to maintain, to overcome what the rapes had done to her mind. The event would, again, take her from right-minded condemnation towards the crime in through a man’s coming to the projects to rape her on a regular basis. She got better treatment at the strip club where he had stalked his prey. “My name is Mary Camden,” the female officer continued, “you are safe now. Do ya’ hear me?” The officer was now trying to connect on a more forcible level. “I understand how you are feeling right now — go get the kit form the car and bring the blanket,” she rushed another officer from the room. The officer tried to get past the crowd surrounding a smashed door, through their watchfully, appalled eyes by the scene.
“MOVE,” another officer had assisted to dispersion of a crowd, “I need everyone to back up! This is a crime scene,” said the rookie. The other officer rushed to the car as the wild woman was calmed by the female officer’s picking through what little books were able to deliver about dealing with a situation. Her eyes were wild, her face a cold distrust for anything living.