My Torn Blouse

My Torn Blouse

Large hands grabbed my shoulders,
forcing me down into the grass,
and a man started tearing off my clothes.
Yelling out, I reached up,
clawing at his face.
One of my nails left a crimson line across his cheek.
As a reward, he smashed a closed fist into my nose.
I heard a cracking sound,
and my vision blurred.
I wanted to keep struggling, but my head was spinning,
and he had my arms pinned with one hand.
I must have done something, struggled or kicked, perhaps -I wasn’t sure,
because he slapped me with the back
of his hand -fairly hard in my opinion, since a bitter taste entered my mouth.
After a quiet moment, I might have lost consciousness.

I remembering screaming no,
but he must have thought no meant yes,
because he didn’t stop.
Perhaps I should have screamed yes?

When I came to,
I was aching worse then I could ever remember.
His massive frame had crashed down
against my 110 pounds, knocking the wind out of me,
or so I thought, since I could no longer hear myself screaming.

I closed my eyes, and my mind began to wander.
The blouse I had on was new, and was ruined when he tore it.
It wasn’t anything fancy, just plain old white,
with buttons down the front, but I liked it.
I had bought it on sale last week at the mall with my friends.

Hearing strange moaning sounds, I
opened my eyes and saw that he was still on top of me.
How long was this going to take?

The moon was above us, I hadn’t noticed it before.
It was bright, almost full, and looked
like it was glowing.
Someone once told me the craters could sometimes form a face.

When a strange sensation caught my attention,
I wanted to shudder in disgust, and might have,
but I wasn’t that aware of myself.