Young Writers Society

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Some explanation (PLEASE READ):


CODE:
Strike through - things I wish I had omitted before submitting
(Blue words in Parentheses) - things I wish I had inserted before submitting

+12 only because of suspense and theme. NO foul scenes.

Here it goes...








I roamed my eyes around while lying back slowly until my head touched the pillow. A lamppost, which partially lightens up the room with a faint orange glow, stood in a corner to my right. Next to it were two wooden doors – like wardrobe doors because of their flowery designs. The wall to my left was blank, so I looked down at the large plywood nailed on the wall across the bed. I supposed that behind it was a window. Maybe Styrofoam was laid between the sheet of wood and the glass to make the room soundproof. That was what I thought, because I believed they were brilliant. They wouldn’t want anyone to hear me if I shouted, would they? Still, my assumption could be wrong. Had there been a window behind the wood, and Styrofoam between the wood and the glass, I didn’t dare to find out. I think you wouldn’t, too, if you knew that a bullet might rush through your skull the very next moment you strove to make a move to escape – in this case: screaming desperately (or pathetically) for a rescuer.

I took a deep breath, and looked straight at the ceiling. Even though it was grey and bleak, I succeeded in imagining that it was the open sky, all stars twinkling in view – just like back at home on dry season nights when I would stay at the terrace with my parents. We would converse with each other – sometimes laugh at something funny my father had said. Then when my parents would feel the sleepiness that people in their fifties would experience at nine thirty in the evening, they each would kiss me on the forehead, tell me to rest too, and leave me on my own. But I would stay a bit more, and indulge myself in the dark blue of the sky, thinking if my life (which had been pretty boring) could be as beautiful as its aura.

Oh, those gorgeous stars...

For now, I loved having a good memory – I moved my head to the left and saw the pillow beside me – but later, I knew that I wouldn’t appreciate it at all.

I hugged myself as I sunk in the soft bed, thinking about what my parents could be doing at that very moment. Were they missing me? Were they looking for me? Of course they would be. I was their only child, their “little angel”. Losing me must have been the worst thing that had ever happened to their entire married life. Well, at least that was how I reflected to comfort myself. So even if I was in this dark place where care didn’t seem to exist, I would remember that somewhere out there, beyond these dreary walls, there was a couple who I knew loved me.

I felt warm tears flow from my eyes. Could my parents have guessed what had happened to me? I remembered – on the night that I had been taken away – I had been out on the streets to buy onions at the nearest sari-sari store. I had been walking for only a minute and about to round a corner, when the next thing I’d known, I had received a powerful blow on the back of my neck. Had anyone seen what had happened? Had anyone even tried to save me? It wasn’t an accident . . . someone had deliberately knocked me out.

I couldn’t understand how it could have turned out like this. I had been gone out almost nightly to buy at that store – garlic, onions, sachets of toothpaste or shampoo, and sometimes even needles. It had seemed like an ordinary night. My father had been sitting by the dinner table, reading one of his philosophical books, when my mother, who had been cooking a viand, softly cursed to herself, telling my father and me that she had forgotten to buy onions. I hadn’t been doing anything but to stare at the green and red checker design of the table cloth, so I, with my unsuppressed jollity, had volunteered to buy them: the onions.

Please don’t assume that I had been such a pathetic little girl. How could have I known what had awaited me at the corner of Rubi St.? The name itself doesn’t seem to imply wickedness. And how could have I known that after being slammed out of and gaining back my consciousness I would find myself in the dark with duct tape on my mouth and ropes coiled around my body? That I would be trapped in the filthy hands of these heinous men?

I sat up to touch my grazed cheeks and forehead, then my mouth. I could still feel the sting on my lips, and the pain in my back and stomach. I could remember: When I’d woken up, finding myself lying in a sinister, dungeon-like place, I had been vainly squirming around to get to my feet; but every time I’d managed to stand up, a male voice would curse me, and I would feel a harsh kick on my back (at times in my guts), excruciating enough to send me back on the abrasive floor. When I’d had enough, a male voice had ordered me to sit up. I hadn’t complied at once, and the result had been harsh: The man had kicked me again at the back. Howling in pain, I’d supported myself by pushing my head on the wall. I had tried, I really had tried, but I was already too weak to sit.

I held my jaw and moved them from side to side. I could remember how mad the man was when his order could not have been done, and how painful it had been when he’d unsympathetically clutched my cheeks to pull off the tape from my mouth. I had screamed. Then he’d grabbed my hair and made me face him. “Drink!” His voice still echoed in my ears. How I had tried opening my eyes but they stopped halfway. In the dark, I had seen a shadowy figure approach my mouth, then liquid had been poured through my lips. The drink had been salty like seawater. I’d whined and refused to drink, then spat it – sprinkled it on the man’s face.

The bed bounced as I lay on my stomach. I clutched my ears. How many times had that man cursed me? – growling the foul words? How many times had he banged my head on the wall, and when I’d collapsed on the ground, he’d cursed again and laughed? I tried to be calm, but more tears fell from my eyes. They kept on coming till the pillow was damp. The truth was I didn’t even know how many days had passed since I’d been gone from home. All I knew was when I was brought here, lack of food and sleep (one can never naturally sleep when one knows that one’s life is at stake) had caused me to feel as if I’d been here for an eternity. I’d felt like going insane – like an animal caged in darkness to be driven out mad.

Things had momentarily felt light when I’d lost my consciousness again. When I’d woken, I was already here in this beautiful room, laid on this soft bed. I wasn’t in my clothes; I wore a silk, black night dress, far above my knees, too thin that my breasts embossed. Thinking of how I could have been so clean had only tortured my mind. They'd turned me into a doll – a dumb doll ready to be played with.

To deflect my thoughts from those hidden horrors, I’d started looking about, cherishing the last moments of my artlessness. That was when I’d noticed everything around me: the plywood (with my worthless theories), the elegant lamp, the wardrobe-like doors, the brown carpet that entirely covered the floor, and the soft sheets and cushions; even the camera on the ceiling – which guaranteed that my movements were numbered, not only by God, but also by those men.

I was tired of crying, so I stopped. Whatever would happen within these four gray walls, I hadn't really wanted to know. Too bad I had guessed, and was sure of it. I suppose I wasn’t that dumb and naïve for a thirteen-year-old girl. I’d figured out that my parents weren’t well-known or rich for me to be kidnapped. I was here for only one obvious reason: for this evil deed I’d heard of a million times before. It was a horrible crime, and the horror it’d had on me had no chance of overcoming the horror I had of it now.

One of the doors opened. A line of white light stretched on the carpeted floor. I jerked up as a man entered. Holding a tray with both of his hands, he pushed the door behind him with the sole of his foot. The man set the tray on the bed. “Eat,” he said, his voice deep and hoarse. It was familiar. If I wasn’t mistaken, he was the man who had kicked me constantly back in the previous room I’d been. This was the first time I saw him clearly. He wore no shirt, which didn’t matter much because his body was covered with tattoos.

“You’re not gonna eat, eh?” he shouted. I realized that I hadn’t moved an inch. He drew out a gun from his behind and directed it on my head. “Eat...” he repeated.

I slowly moved forward. The smell of the soup tormented my stomach. I stared at the bowl of noodles in front of me, thinking if it was poisoned, and then shifted my eyes to the man. “I’m not hungry,” I lied.

A roaring laugh throbbed in my ears. The man laughed and laughed, slapping his thigh at times, till his eyes got teary. Then, chuckling, he slowly pushed the gun muzzle against my forehead. I tightly closed my eyes and waited for the blast. But it didn’t come. Instead, the man laughed again.

The doors flung wide open. White light spread on the walls of the room, and I had to squint to see who was entering. A taller man appeared. This man wore a dark, red shirt. He was bald, and his bushy brows were knitted together while he approached me.

He looked down at me, I looked up at him. He snickered. “This is her?” he asked the man beside him, more of a statement of unbelief though than a question. He knelt on one knee and rested his arm on his thigh. “Say,” he told me, moving his face closer to mine so that I could smell his breathe, which smelled of smoke and alcoholic drink, “are you OK?”

I spat at him.

I had never been so impulsive in my life before. I guess it was the unknown anger I was inadvertently nourishing inside that urged me to act so rashly.

The bald man backed up, wiping his face with the neck of his shirt. He guffawed. “Andy will love this joke,” he said. He stood up. Hands in his pockets, he cocked his brow at the sight of the untouched bowl of noodles. “Aren’t you hungry, little girl?”

I slowly shook my head. He sneered, bent over gradually, and spat in the bowl. I winced at the bubbly, white foam that swam in the soup.

“Eat,” he said sarcastically. “Eat, or Dong here” — he pointed at the man behind him, who in turn childishly waved the handgun above him — “will make the gun go ‘bang!’”

I winced again. Slowly, I took the fork . . . But the bald man snatched it away from me.

He shook his head. “Wait, wait, wait...” He stirred the soup, and handed the fork back to me.

I regretted what I had done. Knowing better than testing the man’s patience again, I dipped the fork into the soup, pulled out two strands of noodles, and swirled it around to put into my mouth. But the bald man grabbed my hand and made me get more strands than I’d intended to.

“There you go!” he exclaimed derisively. He knelt again, his eyes wide and mocking. He waited till the forkful of noodles was in my mouth and I’d swallowed it.

“Good girl!” he exclaimed, patting my head. He stood up and bent over. “Now you wait here as I fetch Andy. I’m gonna live you two alone so you can play.” He clapped once, and laughed. The other man laughed with him, and the room was filled with manly roars.

I found someone else more pathetic than I: them.

Another man entered the room. He closed one of the doors, and leaned on it, arms crossed. I couldn’t see him well because he stood sideways, as if he was disgusted of and couldn’t look at me. He was thin – not bony-thin though, but strangely fit.

The bald man turned around to greet the newcomer. “Oh, hi, Andy! Guess I didn’t have to call you. Lookie here . . . we got you a playmate…”

Andy sighed and cleared his throat. Odd thing though – Andy was you . . . and there, you appeared for the first time and the last, by that door – and in my life.

The bald man sneered, and walked up to you. "Since this is your first,” he said, “I'll give you all night – and some privacy.” He patted your shoulder, and whispered. “And she’s untouched.”

The tattoo-covered man whistled and threw you his gun. You deftly caught it.

The bald man continued, "If she fights, kill her...”

“A dead body isn’t as warm as a living one,” the tattoo-covered man said, “but it’ll still do."

They laughed again. But you – you seemed like a rock. Or maybe your humour was simply different from theirs.

The other two men went out of the room. Playing with the gun in your hand, you stood straight as the doors closed behind you and the strong white light faded. I heard locks and chains chink. They had locked us in – alone.

You stared at me – with the stare of an introvert. I froze. You didn't take off your gaze on me, so I shifted my eyes on the floor, watching your shadow creep towards me. Weight pressed down on the bed; you now sat beside me. Close enough to make my heart pound as if it was obliged to pump out a ton of blood. Your presence gave me a headache.

For awhile you didn't do anything, neither spoke nor moved. Silence prevailed around us. But in my mind a hundred words were being screamed by different voices all at the same, and I couldn’t decipher anything. I felt as if I was going to faint. My breaths began to shorten, and my body began to shake weakly, but uncontrollably. I hugged myself to refrain from retching.

“Are you okay?” you asked, breaking my thoughts.

The way you said it was soft. And your voice – it wasn't deep or hoarse, like the men who had been gone; it was a smooth, nasal tune that ran in my ears pleasantly. It was young. It identified you…

Brilliant.

My arms stopped shaking. “Are you gonna kill me after this?”

I heard you chuckle. You chuckled. I didn't expect that, but I understood: You had been only mocking me.

Tears blurred my vision and fell down my cheeks. You were winning – all of you were winning.

I gathered up courage to face you, and asked, “Why do you have to do this?”

You blinked at me once, and stared on the floor.

“If you really have to do this,” I started to plead, “just kill me first – please.” The last word came out as a mumble.

I watched you closely – till you started taking off your shirt. I turned around to face the darkness, thinking, This is it. Heavens, why? I don't want this to happen. Please just let me die now. Take my soul. I began to have a hard time breathing because of (the) frustration and terror which choked me.

The weight on the bed lifted.

"Don't cry,” a voice said.

My ears pricked up at what I’d heard. I asked, “What?” I stopped(ing) my sniffs.

Your voice was gentle, almost a whisper, devoid of any derision. “I said – Don’t cry.”

I felt a piece of cotton cloth tenderly mop my eyes. It smelled of cigarette smoke and beer. It was your shirt. You had taken off your shirt to wipe away my tears? Did you really think that a sweet act could diminish my fears? Well it didn’t…

…just a tad.

When you were done, I opened my eyes and took a good look at you. The light from the lamp was faint, but I could trace your features. Your face was so simple, yet you were handsome. Yes, you. You had a long, childish grin on you face; your eyes were very dark, yet fascinatingly bright – and frightened. For once in a very long time, I became conscious of what I looked like. What did I look like? I had cried, I had been scared. Did I look beautiful? As pretty as what others had told me? Or did I look foolish as I faintly smiled back at you?

I got back to my senses, and frowned. I realized how charming you were and how stupid I was.

“Why do you have to do this?” I asked again.

“I don’t have to do this,” you whispered. Your tone was amiable. “And if I don’t want to do this, I won’t do it.”

“Do you want to do this?” I asked.

You looked at me, eyes glimmering, your grin still there. You slowly shook your head. “I don’t . . . so I won’t.”

Everything spun in my mind. Could it really be? You wouldn’t do it to me? Were you actually . . . different? What you just said – it could have been the truth, or it could have been a lie. Did you think I had believed you? Was it the truth? Or was it a lie? Maybe you were under drugs, or under the influence of alcohol – just like those maniacs outside. Or maybe you were good in acting. Not that it mattered now – because I had believed you.

And how foolish I was...

You turned around, and stared at the camera. Closing an eye, you raised the gun, and turned off the lamp so that I couldn’t see anything.

“What are you doing?” I screamed. I groped for the footboard, but your hand stopped me.

You whispered, “Just relax. Don’t worry.”

“Stop! Please!” I pleaded. I strove to stand up, but then I felt your arm wrap around me. When I wriggled you gripped stronger. “Stop!” My arms were locked behind me, and I lay prostrate on the bed. I tried to grapple you, but you were too strong.

“Relax,” you whispered directly into my ears.

My face was pushed down in the pillow so that it was buried. I couldn’t breathe. I tried to shout, but none of my words came out clear. I even doubted that my squeals could be heard.

Then I heard a gunshot...

“List – listen – hey,” a hushed voice said.

I struggled to be free.

“I’ll release you if you please stop screaming,” the voice whispered.

I stopped my squirming and succumbed to the request. The heaviness on my body immediately disappeared. I rolled over, gasping for a breath. Panting, I lay on the bed. The light had been turned on.

“I’m sorry for that,” you whispered. “Now we have to hurry. They might check up on us soon. I don’t think they’ll eat up that much.”

“Eat...what?” I weakly asked; I lost a lot of power from the wrestle and lack of air.

“You see that.” You pointed at a corner – at the camera. I squinted at it. The lens was cracked. “That’s a lucky shot.” You smirked. I was impressed.

“Come one,” you said as you knelt on the bed and supported my neck. “They might figure out that everything was an act.”

“I didn’t even figure it out myself.” I stood up on my own.

You softly chuckled as you pulled the blanket. You forcibly ripped it apart, quietly raced for the door, and carefully slipped the cloth between (?) the two door handles, twisting it together and tying it as hard as you could.

“Now help me move the bed. Be as quiet as possible.”

“What are you doing?” I whispered. I still had to guess the obvious.

“I’m helping you escape.” You smiled at me. I felt warm blood rush up my body – to my cheeks. It was because of my excitement and superfluous fondness of you.

Not a moment was to be lost. So quickly yet inaudibly, we heaved up and carried the bed, then pushed it against the doors. No one was getting out; no one was getting in either.

“Come.” You walked to the corner of the room, and I kept on wondering if there was an invisible door somewhere.

You squatted and rested your elbows on your thighs. “Climb and reach the camera . . . fast.”

I swiftly climbed on your back and reached for the broken device, tugging it thrice to separate it from the wire. I climbed down and gave it to you.

You raced back and knelt on the floor. The part of the carpet – where the bed had been – had a huge, square mark on it; it looked like it was stitched around. With a sharp edge of the camera, you slowly cut out the stitches, one by one.

“Andy!” a voice echoed outside. “Yoo-hoo!” The voice was teasing. “Why did you disconnect the camera?” I heard loud, menacing laughs.

I glanced at the door, hoping the cloth and the bed would hold them out as we escaped.

“Darn it!” you said. The cutting was taking so long, so you angrily tore the camera apart. While taking out a screw, a part of your skin on your thumb was incised. It bled, and I knew it hurt. But you didn’t seem to mind it. You pressed your bleeding thumb on your shirt, and took the screw with you other hand.

“Wachu doin’, Andy?” the voice started again.

I shifted my eyes back at the door. I heard that the locks outside were being opened.

“It’s opened,” you whispered.

I was terrorized, and looked back at you. “The locks are being opened, too.”

A hole now lay on the floor. You had successfully taken out the piece of square wood. I peeked in the pit. It was dark, and foul smell came from it. You took my hand as you started to climb down. But you noticed that I wouldn’t even budge.

“Come on,” you said.

“Andy!” The voice that came from outside turned furious. “Open this!” Someone thumped on the door, forcing it to open.

I looked at the door, then back at you.

“Come on,” you repeated.

Bullets penetrated through the doors. You pulled me down and made me duck.

“Come on!” you hissed.

Pinching my nose and closing my eyes, I had no other choice but to crawl down with you.

Below was pure darkness. Nothing could be seen – except when you look back and get a glimpse of the faint light in the room. I couldn’t feel any wall around so I held on to your arm. The ground was cold and sticky which made it hard to walk on. It was soft as flesh, but somewhat hard and pointy as bones. It was what I thought – it was never meant to be a guess.

“What are we stepping on?” I asked.

“We have to move faster,” you said, not answering my question. “When they realize they can’t force the doors in the room, they would wait for us outside. We have to beat ‘em out.”

I tried my best to scamper till you stopped.

“Could you let go of my arm for awhile?” Your voice sounded thin.

“Don’t leave me,” I begged.

“I won’t.”

I let you go of your arm, and then I heard thumps on the ceiling, like books falling off a shelf and onto a wooden floor. Debris fell on my head. Soon, light descended from the cracks. You kept on punching and until you had torn out a hole as big as the hole back in the room.

When enough light shone around us, I looked on the floor. What we were stepping on were bodies – dead bodies.

“Andy!” I clutched your arm, alarmed.

You carried me as I reached out. I hauled myself up.

The first thing I noticed was the sky; all stars were twinkling in view. Finally, fresh air. Liberty. I looked back and saw a wall standing great and tall; it was the back of the house I thought. Around us were plants, trees, and bushes. By the horizon, I could distinguish the mountains from the sky.

You climbed out, panting as you spoke. “Now, you run straight there—” You pointed behind me, away from the house. “Run through the bushes so they wouldn’t be able to follow you in a vehicle. It’s kind of a shortcut, too. You’ll beat them to a street.” You fell to your knees. “And when you do, turn right. Just follow the path and you will see a police station.”

“Come with me,” I said, tugging at your arm. But you yanked it back.

You shook your head. “I want you to run now. Find the police. Tell them to get here as soon as possib—”

“We can tell the authorities together.”

“I’ve tried before, you know...”

“Try it again with me—”

“Are you scared?”

“For you.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

“I’m already nineteen, so you don’t have to worry about me, OK?” Then you smiled your childish smile. “I’ll be alright.”

I smiled too, bent over, and kissed your forehead. Silver lined your eyes; tears struggled to break free. But you were good at keeping them in, just hanging in there.

“Andy, are you there?” a faint voice hollered.

You pulled yourself out of the hole (You stood) and held up the gun, pointing it toward where the voice came from. “Run,” you hissed.

“But—”

“Dang it! Just run!”

I ran as fast as I could, and I didn’t look back. Just like you had ordered, I darted through the trees and bushes, twigs poking at my legs and feet. I didn’t expect my feet to move that fast, especially at my condition; but they did. And, hearing gunshots pierce through the night, I continued to run with you on my mind. As I went further away from the horrid place, the gunfire ceased. I wanted to come back. I wanted to know: Did you kill them? – Or did they kill you?

At last, I found the street, took a right turn, and ran some more till I arrived at a police station. There, I was informed where I was: Sapang Palay, Bulacan. I was in a province – very, very far from home.

I won’t forget that place as well. It was part of the insanity I had to go through. Amidst the cops and cuffed suspects about to be brought to another town, I stood, terribly shaking, pleading the police to rescue you. But they didn’t take any action even when I showed them my scars and grazes. They took me as a mad girl – concluded, to be precise.

“Aren’t these enough proofs for you?” I shouted, banging the desk.

Annoyed, the head officer of the station threatened me to stop. “I will cuff you if you conti—”

His words were cut by another police officer who came charging in. “Sir, a tanod reported that there was a gunfire a few minutes ago. I’m not so sure of the location, but they say it may be just a few miles away.”

“That’s it!” I shouted like a three-year-old, relieved. “I told you.”

The man on the desk rolled his eyes. “Call Dan.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m coming!” I butted in.

“You can’t come with us, miss.”

“But I know the place—”

“Stay.”

The officer pushed me aside, and I collapsed on a chair. Most of the police marched out with him.

After minutes of pure apprehension, a police requested for my parents’ number so he could call them. I declined the offer when he asked if I wanted to talk to my parents. After speaking on the phone, he walked up to me.

“Your parents said they’re on their way,” he said. “They might get here before the sun rises.”

“Thank you,” I weakly said.

“How old are you?”

“Thirteen, sir.”

The officer chucked me. “Say, you’re a pretty girl.”

I slapped his hand away. “Even if you’re wearing that uniform,” I furiously said, hugging myself as I remembered how awful my attire was, “you remind me exactly of them.” He backed up and never stepped any closer to me until my parents arrived.

A reunion with my family was what I needed to feel comforted. I privately told my parents everything that had happened in the car. They believed me, it seemed; but they prohibited me to tell anybody else.

Before we left, the police told my parents that they still needed to file against anyone who might have been arrested. My parents refused to. They told the authorities that were happy I was safe. Period.

So I sat in the backseat of the car, watching the sun rise over the horizon. I couldn’t enjoy the scene, because I kept on thinking about what happened to you. I hoped and prayed you were alright – just like you had promised.

Going from Sapang Palay to Manila City was a four-hour trip – a long time for my mother to rant at me. My parents made two things clear: first, I was never to go out at night again till I turned sixteen, plus there would be certain rules; second, I was to keep my mouth shut about what had happened to me – they greatly detested the possibility of my meddling with the investigations.

Deep inside, I believed that they were simply being selfish. I suspected that they were only afraid people would think I was actually defiled. I was most certainly concerned with what had occurred. I could even charge those men who had been arrested; they acted violently against me. Figuring out everything that might happen, I swore to myself: If I were needed for the investigation (say subpoenaed) I would do anything I could to help find justice. I was confident that soon the truth would have to be disclosed, and my parents wouldn’t be able to stop it.

Days passed. I realized how Philippine current and public affairs could sustain an issue to keep the mass intrigued. I didn’t have to beg my parents to call the police and ask what had happened to the operation because the incident flooded the news headlines. There were so many newspaper and online articles and news slots regarding it. I read and watched them all – again and again. I even started to memorize some lines, like what one police had said: “As of now, we still don’t know what caused the gunfire, and we are not to conclude...” I remembered the statement merely for wry amusement though.

After one and a half weeks, investigators confirmed that the women were raped before killed, and the police had given out a list of suspects who hadn’t been yet arrested (as if they'd been serious of getting those hoodlums arrested). Channel 7 promptly aired a special episode about this certain case, which was called the Sapang Palay Case:

“December 21, 2007,” the host started. “At Sapang Palay, Bulacan...” The screen showed a video of the house. No matter how huge and beautiful the house could appear to the eyes of men, to me it was hunting; it had held secrets which had acted as hell for those women who had been there before me.

A man appeared on the screen. It was one of the news clips previously shown at the nightly news broadcast. He was one of the six suspects arrested that night. (Sadly, none of them was either the bald man, or the tattoo-covered man; and of course, none of them was you.) This man was badly wounded because he tried to fight; he ended up with a bullet in his left arm, another one in his right thigh.

“You were found hiding in the base of a house where nine female bodies were found,” the reporter’s voice said.

The wounded suspect lay in a hospital bed, covering his face with his arm.

“What were you doing there?” the reporter asked.

“I can’t remember, sir,” the man reasoned.

The reporter tried a different question. “Do you know what happened to those bodies?”

The man paused. “It was all part of the initiation, sir.”

“What was part of the initiation?” The reporter was quick to ask.

The man remained silent, so the reporter asked his question again. Finally, the man answered: “To rape a woman...”

A woman appeared on the screen; she was an attorney. “Sexual assault is an inhumane act, ‘no?” she explained. “Our law – the law – strictly prohibits it. We have what we call the Anti-Rape Law of 1997… As stated in Article 266-A, rape is committed by a man who shall have carnal knowledge of a woman under certain circumstances, ‘no? Like through force, or intimidation. For example, the man threatened the woman that he would kill her, ‘no? – if she refuses to concede...”

The suspect was shown again on the screen.

“Then after that...?” the reporter asked.

“They were killed, Sir.”

“Did you do it?”

“I don’t know anything about the killings, sir.”

“How about the initiation? Did you have to be initiated?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Why?”

“I was only threatened, sir.” His voice cracked, seemingly crying.

“Threatened by whom and for what?”

“They were going to kill me if I didn’t join their gang.”

“So you really had to do it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What about those women? Did you think about them before you did it?”

The man had remained silent. Maybe he had regretted saying too much. Maybe he had been guilty because he knew what he had been doing was wrong.

The attorney appeared on the screen again. “The motivation for rape, ‘no? – let’s see... Actually, there is no single theory that explains it, eh, ‘no? But we can name several common motives: anger, desire for power, sadism, sexual gratification, under the influence of alcohol, or worse, drugs...”

How about you? What were you doing there? – with them? Did you really belong to that group of men? Was it your ‘initiation’? Did they threaten you, too? These were the questions in my mind.

“Effects of sexual assault are drastic,” the attorney explained, shaking her head. “Victims can be severely traumatized by the assault, ‘no? They might go insane. Their character is distorted; they become upset for no reason. They become stressed, ‘no? And because they’re afraid of being seen as a ‘dirty woman’, they prevent themselves from revealing the crime to their friends or families, or to seek the police or medical assistance...”

And I didn’t have to go through any of those because of you...

“And this silence,” the lawyer continued, “is the cause why there are only hundreds of reported sexual assault cases – it was raised by twenty percent in the previous year in the Philippines, ‘no? And we are sure that there’s a much, much bigger actual number . . . and that number, may even fall into thousands.”

A different woman appeared on the screen. She was a mother of one of the victims. “It’s painful,” she said in a plaintive voice; she was at the verge of crying, and I could see she was a strong woman. “—just painful.”

I understand the pain that the crime had brought. I shared a part of it – somehow. A few days before the airing of that particular show, I had been summoned by the investigators. Surprisingly, my parents had agreed for me to come...

“What am I going to do, sir?” I asked the investigator. The investigator patted my shoulder as we walked through a hall. He must have sensed that I was greatly bothered.

“As you may have heard already,” he said, “nine female bodies were found.”

“Are they all identified now?”

“Yes, and none of them came from the same city or province.”

“Does that mean they kidnapped women from different places in the country?”

“Yes. It was probably because they thought that the authorities would have a harder time tracking them.”

“Oh...”

“There are also two dead men found.”

“I know,” I melancholily said. Deep in my heart I was dreading. What if one of them was you?

“They were the ones who had fought with the police and were killed.”

If one of them was you, I doubted what the investigator said. (You didn't fight the police...you fought with them.)

“What I want you to do,” he continued, “is to try to remember them. If you can recognize eitherof them, you might help us a lot with the investigation.”

I nodded.

We entered a room where the corpses, wrapped in white cloths, had been laid on the floor. Slowly, the investigator removed the cloth from the face of the first one.

I covered my nose with a handkerchief as I looked intently at the face. The man had black curls, and dark skin. He had a tattoo on his neck. I was relieved. It wasn’t you.

“I don’t remember him,” I confidently told the investigator.

The investigator nodded. “OK. The next one was shot in the head, so it would be a little gruesome.”

The next body was unwrapped. Its thin frame disturbed me. My eyes scrutinized the face. Blood mixed with dirt covered his forehead and left eye and cheek. His lips were already pale as his skin, and his cheeks had somewhat already sunk in.

I turned away swiftly, swallowing as tears trickled down my cheeks. Slowly nodding, I said, “I remember him, sir.”

It was you...

I cried – I cried for you as if you were my brother. And at that time I still hadn’t known who you really were: that you were the younger and only sibling of the bald man; that your real name was Phanuel Andrei Gonzales; that you were an orphan; and that you were rich, and the mansion – which acted as a hideout for your vile-minded brother’s gang – belonged to your late parents. All I knew back then was that you seemed to be a friend more than a stranger. So I cried for you even though I still hadn’t known that no one else really would.

Three years have passed. I’m sixteen now. Just finished high school. Not a popular girl. Don’t have many friends. A loner most of the time. I’m just living my life. I’ll be at the university at just about a month from now, and I’ll be taking up a course in Criminology. Crazy idea, I know. But for real justice), I’m still hoping to find that bald man and his tattoo-covered friend. When I do, I’ll make sure they get the punishments they deserve. I don’t seem to learn from the ‘spit’, did I?

And, oh, boy, take heed – even after three years, our story hasn’t completely died. Like any other infamous cases here in the Philippines, relatives of the victims of this particular episode would annually mourn for those innocent people who were harmed; and hope that people continue to learn from it. That’s why I still hear about it once in a while. And when I do, I go back in time when certain people – mostly journalists who worked with detectives – were so engrossed by our story. I go back and remember a particular interview for the Jessica Soho show. “It’s such a unique story about an unlikely hero,” Jessica had said. She had been so eager to meet me; I felt the same way.

So I sat in the dark, sitting on a couch, waiting for the taping to start. My identity was unexposed for security purposes. When I appeared on television, I would only be a shadow with a distorted voice; and they were going to ‘hide’ me by the name ‘Nancy’ – not my real name, of course.

The interviewer coughed, and her shadow moved as I heard sheets of paper being shuffled. Someone told us that the camera was rolling and we could start anytime. A squeaky voice started to ask me questions, and I answered everything – except one:

“If that man – Phanuel – was still alive, what would you tell him?” the voice was high-pitched; it was Jessica.

I smiled as if she could see me, stared at her shadow, and remained silent. The question got me thinking: What would I tell you if you were still alive?

In the dark, I remembered your face. In my mind, I knew exactly what I’ve always wanted to tell you:

Phanuel Andrei Gonzales,

I never told you how thankful I am for what you did. I had the chance, I know; but I declined the opportunity. It was because I thought I’d see you again.

I was wrong...

I was wrong to believe you when you told me that you were going to be alright. Now, every time I remember your frightened, dark eyes, and wide, childish grin, I think of how things could have turned out if we had escaped together. It’s simply mad, but sometimes I wonder if we might have been actually meant to be in a bed together. Sometimes I catch myself pondering if you really had cared for me – or if you had fallen in love with me even for just one moment in time.

If only I had known that you would make me into the maddest mad girl in the world, maybe I would have pushed you harder into leaving that place with me. There were only two possibilities after all – we escape together, or we die together – and I have to admit that I wasn’t ready to know which of them would have come to pass. And even if now I have the courage to risk my own chances of living, it’s too late: I can never go back in time to know, I can never decide for my past, I can never do anything anymore – for you. I need to move on, I guess.

But before that...

Andy dear, I doubt that I will have all of my questions about you answered, and I guess your kindness will forever remain a mystery to me. But . . . there’s one thing I can and always will be sure of: You were the strangest strange stranger there was — and still is.

With all gratitude and affection,
Nina Baromeo

PLEASE READ:


Sorry for making you read 7000+ words.

IF YOU LIKED IT, PLEASE PRESS THE LIKE BUTTON. It will seriously make my day. Thank you. =)

EDITED:

My main goal:

RangerHawk wrote:I think this is a good story with a lovely, romantic, wishful note to an otherwise gritty and horrible subject. Good job keeping the story clean and classy, yet also real.

BayWolf wrote:It's amazing how you can write about such a controversial topic and make it still readable.

Azila wrote:It feels fresh and surprisingly lighthearted for such a disgusting, terrible topic.

Thank you so much for the reviews! After the journal is published (whether I get in or not), I'll edit this!


.o~ Jash ♥

Thanks, Inbetweener!

jashbagabaldo wrote:I roamed my eyes around Never heard that phrase before. while lying back slowly until my head touched the pillow. A lamp, which partially lightened up the room with a faint orange glow, stood in a corner to my right. Next to it were two wooden doors – like wardrobe doors because of their flowery designs. The wall to my left was blank, so I looked down at the large plywood nailed on the wall across the bed. I supposed that behind it was a window. Maybe Styrofoam was laid between the sheet of wood and the glass to make the room soundproof. That was what I thought, because I believed they were brilliant. They wouldn’t want anyone to hear me if I shouted, would they? Still, my assumption could be wrong. Had there been a window behind the wood, and Styrofoam between the wood and the glass, I didn’t dare to find out. I think you wouldn’t, too, if you knew that a bullet might rush through your skull the very next moment you strove Not quite the right word. to make a move to escape "Make a move to escape" is unnecessarily complicated. – in this case In which case? Is someone screaming now? This latter part sounds odd. : screaming desperately (or pathetically) for a rescuer.

I took a deep breath, and looked straight at the ceiling. Even though it was grey and bleak, I succeeded in imagining that it was the open sky, all stars twinkling in view – just like back at home on dry season nights when I would stay at the terrace with my parents. We would converse with each other – sometimes laugh at something funny my father had said. Then when my parents would feel the sleepiness that people in their fifties would experience at nine thirty in the evening, they each would kiss me on the forehead, tell me to rest too, and leave me on my own. But I would stay up a bit more, and indulge myself in the dark blue of the sky, thinking if my life (which had been pretty boring) could be as beautiful as its aura. Worded strangely.

Oh, those gorgeous stars...

For now, I loved having a good memory – I moved my head to the left and saw the pillow beside me – but later, I knew that I wouldn’t appreciate it at all.

I hugged myself as I sunk in the soft bed, thinking about what my parents could be doing at that very moment. Were they missing me? Were they looking for me? Of course they would be. I was their only child, their “little angel." Losing me must have been the worst thing that had ever happened to their entire married life. Well, at least that was how I reflected to comfort myself. So even if I was in this dark place where care didn’t seem to exist, I would remember that somewhere out there, beyond these dreary walls, there was a couple who I knew loved me.

I felt warm tears flow from my eyes. Could my parents have guessed what had happened to me? I remembered – on the night that I had been taken away – I had been out on the streets to buy onions at the nearest sari-sari store. I had been walking for only a minute and about to round a corner, when the next thing I’d known, I had received a powerful blow on the back of my neck. Had anyone seen what had happened? Had anyone even tried to save me? It wasn’t an accident . . . someone had deliberately knocked me out. Well, duh.

I couldn’t understand how it could have turned out like this. I had been gone out almost nightly to buy at that store – garlic, onions, sachets of toothpaste or shampoo, and sometimes even needles. It had seemed like an ordinary night. My father had been sitting by the dinner table, reading one of his philosophical books, when my mother, who had been cooking a viand, softly cursed to herself, telling my father and me that she had forgotten to buy onions. I hadn’t been doing anything but to stare at the green and red checker design of the table cloth, so I, with my unsuppressed jollity, had volunteered to buy them.

Please don’t assume that I had been such a pathetic little girl. How could have I known what had awaited me at the corner of Rubi St.? The name itself doesn’t seem to imply wickedness. And how could have I known that after being slammed out of and gaining back my consciousness Could be worded better. I would find myself in the dark with duct tape on my mouth and ropes coiled around my body? Say earlier in the story that you are being held in this way. That I would be trapped in the filthy hands of these heinous men? I thought she didn't know who had hit her.

I sat up to touch my grazed cheeks and forehead, then my mouth. I could still feel the sting on my lips, and the pain in my back and stomach. I could remember: When I’d woken up, finding myself lying in a dungeon, I had been vainly squirming around to get to my feet; but every time I’d managed to stand up, a male voice would curse me, and I would feel a harsh kick on my back (at times in my guts), excruciating enough to send me back on the abrasive floor Looong sentence. . When I’d had enough, a male voice had ordered me to sit up. I hadn’t complied at once, and the result had been harsh: The man had kicked me again at the back. Howling in pain I would have imagined her quietly taking in the agony. , I’d supported myself by pushing my head on the wall. I had tried, I really had tried, but I was already too weak to sit.

I held my jaw and moved them Them? Do you mean "it," as in the jaw?from side to side. I could remember how mad the man was when his order could not have been done What? , and how painful it had been when he’d unsympathetically Careful with the adverbs. clutched my cheeks to pull off the tape from my mouth. I had screamed. Then he’d grabbed my hair and made me face him. “Drink!” His voice still echoed in my ears. How I had tried to open my eyes, but that they stopped halfway. In the dark, I had seen a shadowy figure approach my mouth; then liquid had been poured through my lips. The drink had been salty, like seawater. I’d whined and refused to drink, then spat it out – sprinkled it on the man’s face.

The bed bounced as I lay on my stomach. I clutched my ears. How many times had that man cursed me? – growling the foul words You don't need this last part. ? How many times had he banged my head on the wall, and when I collapsed on the ground, cursed again and laughed? I tried to be calm, but more tears fell from my eyes. They kept on coming till the pillow was damp. The truth was I didn’t even know how many days had passed since I’d been taken. All I knew was when I was brought here, lack of food and sleep (one can never naturally sleep when one knows that one’s life is at stake) had caused me to feel as if I’d been here for an eternity. I’d felt like going insane – like an animal caged in darkness to be driven out mad. A bit confusing.

Things had momentarily felt light when I’d lost my consciousness again. When I’d woken, I was already here in this beautiful room, laid on this soft bed. I wasn’t in my clothes; I wore a silk, black night dress, far above my knees, too thin that my breasts embossed. Thinking of how I could have been so clean had only tortured my mind. They'd turned me into a doll – a dumb doll ready to be played with. This whole paragraph needs to be reworked.

To deflect my thoughts from those hidden horrors Say "hidden horrors" five times fast. , I’d started looking about, cherishing the last moments of my artlessness. That was when I’d noticed everything around me: the plywood (with my worthless theories) What worthless theories? , the elegant lamp, the wardrobe-like doors, the brown carpet that entirely covered the floor, and the soft sheets and cushions; even the camera on the ceiling – which guaranteed that my movements were numbered, not only by God, but also by those men.

I was tired of crying, so I stopped I would expect that it wouldn't be that easy. . Whatever would happen within these four gray walls, I hadn't really wanted to know. Too bad I had guessed, and was sure of it. I suppose I wasn’t that dumb and naïve for a thirteen-year-old girl. I’d figured out that my parents weren’t well-known or rich enough for me to be kidnapped. I was here for only one obvious reason: for this evil deed I’d heard of a million times before Okay, now I'm confused. . It was a horrible crime, and the horror it’d had on me then had no chance of overcoming the horror I had of it now.

One of the doors opened. A line of white light stretched out on the carpeted floor. I jerked up as a man entered. Holding a tray with both of his hands, he pushed the door behind him with the sole of his foot. The man set the tray on the bed. “Eat,” he said, his voice deep and hoarse. It was familiar. If I wasn’t mistaken, he was the man who had kicked me constantly back in the previous room I’d been. This was the first time I saw him clearly. He wore no shirt, which didn’t matter much because his body was covered with tattoos.

“You’re not gonna eat, eh?” he shouted. I realized that I hadn’t moved an inch. He drew out a gun from his behind and directed it on my head. “Eat...” he repeated.

I slowly moved forward. The smell of the soup tormented my stomach. I stared at the bowl of noodles in front of me, convincing myself that it was poisoned, and then shifted my eyes to the man. “I’m not hungry,” I lied.

A roaring laughter throbbed in my ears. The man laughed and laughed, slapping his thigh at times, till his eyes got teary. Then, chuckling, he slowly pushed the gun muzzle against my forehead. I tightly closed my eyes and waited for the blast. But it didn’t come. Instead, the man laughed again.

The doors flung wide open. White light spread on the walls of the room, and I had to squint to see who was entering. A taller man appeared. This man wore a dark, red shirt. He was bald, and his bushy eyebrows were knitted together while he approached me.

He looked down at me, and I looked up at him. He snickered. “This is her?” he asked the man beside him, more of a statement of unbelief though than a question. He knelt on one knee and rested his arm on his thigh. “Say,” he told me, moving his face closer to mine so that I could smell his breath, which smelled of smoke and alcoholic drink, “are you okay?”

I spat at him.

I had never been so impulsive in my life before. I guess it was the unknown Not the right word. anger I was inadvertently nourishing inside that urged me to act so rashly.

The bald man backed up, wiping his face with the neck of his shirt. He guffawed. “Andy will love this joke,” he said. He stood up. Hands in his pockets, he cocked his brow at the sight of the untouched bowl of noodles. “Aren’t you hungry, little girl?”

I slowly shook my head. He sneered, bent down, and spat in the bowl. I winced at the bubbly, white foam that swam in the soup.

“Eat,” he said sarcastically. “Eat, or Dong here” — he pointed at the man behind him, who in turn childishly waved the handgun above him — “will make the gun go ‘bang!’” Extremely weird way to say "shoot you."

I winced again. Slowly, I took the fork . . . But the bald man snatched it away from me.

He shook his head. “Wait, wait, wait...” He stirred the soup, and handed the fork back to me.

I regretted what I had done. Knowing better than testing the man’s patience again, I dipped the fork into the soup, pulled out two strands of noodles, and swirled it around to put into my mouth "Swirl it around to put it into my mouth?". But the bald man grabbed my hand and forced the fork into my mouth.

“There you go!” he exclaimed derisively. He knelt again, his eyes wide and mocking. He waited till I'd swallowed the forkful of noodles.

“Good girl!” he exclaimed, patting my head. He stood up and bent over. “Now you wait here as I fetch Andy. I’m gonna live you two alone so you can play.” He clapped once, and laughed. The other man laughed with him, and the room was filled with manly roars. Uh... "manly roars?"

I found someone else more pathetic than I: them.

Another man entered the room. He closed one of the doors, and leaned on it, arms crossed. I couldn’t see him well because he stood sideways, as if he was disgusted of and couldn’t look at me. He was thin – not bony-thin though, but strangely fit. Not sure how to picture "strangely fit."

The bald man turned around to greet the newcomer. “Oh, hi, Andy! Guess I didn’t have to call you. Lookie here . . . we got you a playmate…”

Andy sighed and cleared his throat. Odd thing though – Andy was you . . . and there, you appeared for the first time and the last, by that door – and in my life. I did not understand a word of this, except for the first sentence. Interesting concept, but tell it to me in a bit more lucid way.

The bald man sneered, and walked up to you. "Since this is your first,” he said, “I'll give you all night – and some privacy.” He patted your shoulder, and whispered. “And she’s untouched.”

The tattoo-covered man whistled and threw you his gun. You deftly caught it.

The bald man continued, "If she fights, kill her...”

“A dead body isn’t as warm as a living one,” the tattoo-covered man said, “but it’ll still do."

They laughed again. But you – you seemed like a rock. Or maybe your humour was simply different from theirs.

The other two men went out of the room. Playing with the gun in your hand, you stood straight as the doors closed behind you and the strong white light faded. I heard locks and chains chink. They had locked us in – alone.

You stared at me – with the stare of an introvert. I froze I thought she was already frozen. . You didn't take off your gaze on me, so I shifted my eyes to the floor, watching your shadow creep towards me. Weight pressed down on the bed; you now sat beside me. Close enough to make my heart pound as if it was obliged to pump out a ton of blood. Your presence gave me a headache.

For awhile you didn't do anything; neither of us spoke nor moved. Silence prevailed around us. But in my mind a hundred words were being screamed by different voices all at the same, and I couldn’t decipher anything. I felt as if I was going to faint. My breaths began to shorten, and my body began to shake weakly, but uncontrollably. I hugged myself to refrain from retching.

“Are you okay?” you asked, breaking my thoughts.

The way you said it was soft. And your voice – it wasn't deep or hoarse, like the men who had been gone; it was a smooth, nasal tune that ran in my ears pleasantly. It was young. It identified you….

I'm excited to hear what's next! My plan is to review a fourth of the story a day, so I'll have the whole thing done, hopefully, by the eighth. Keep it up!

-Kafka

Hey Jashy niece!

Thank you for requesting that I read this! I loved it! At first, I was afraid I was going to read about a rape, but I'm so glad that she escaped. It's amazing how you can write about such a controversial topic and make it still readable. You managed to create a nice ebb and flow of dialogue, thoughts, and description, so reading was enjoyable. There were some parts that were a little off (but I'm pretty sure you had already addressed them), but otherwise, I thought it was a great story. It's dark and mysterious enough to keep the reader's attention, but still there's enough "lightness" and hope that we don't get entirely depressed.

I found only one spelling error that I could recall, so here it is!

No matter how huge and beautiful the house could appear to the eyes of men, to me it was hunting; it had held secrets which had acted as hell for those women who had been there before me.

It should be "haunting. You just missed an 'a' in there.

I like how the MC managed to come away from the experience with a new purpose in life. It's always great to read something of that kind. I was sad to see that Andy didn't make it, but then again, I suppose I never really expected him to make it in the first place. His betrayal of his brother sort of set him up to be a sacrifice for the MC's escape.

Overall, I would say that this is a very nice short story. I like it. *clicks like*

Happy Writing!
Bailey

Hai Jash-ie! Okay, so, I managed to finish reading this a couple hours ago, but I was ever so rudely kicked off of the computer before I could actually get to the review.

And, thanks to that, I am apparently late. xD Cafe (Aka Kaf) seems to have gotten to most of the nit-picky things that I would have pointed out, so I'll skip most of that for the most part. (I'll probably mention a few things if they really bugged me, though).

The first thing that bothered me was the length of the first paragraph. It may be just me, but I'm usually intimidated when a story starts with a paragraph that long. Of course, this is very easy to fix (I won't point out any nit-picks about the paragraph, as Kaf has already taken care of that. I'll just show where it could be split):

jashbagabaldo wrote:I roamed my eyes around while lying back slowly until my head touched the pillow. A lamppost, which partially lightens up the room with a faint orange glow, stood in a corner to my right. Next to it were two wooden doors – like wardrobe doors because of their flowery designs. Right here, for one. The wall to my left was blank, so I looked down at the large plywood nailed on the wall across the bed. I supposed that behind it was a window. Maybe Styrofoam was laid between the sheet of wood and the glass to make the room soundproof. That was what I thought, because I believed they were brilliant. They wouldn’t want anyone to hear me if I shouted, would they? Still, my assumption could be wrong. Had there been a window behind the wood, and Styrofoam between the wood and the glass, I didn’t dare to find out. Maybe here? It might add a bit of... um... a punch? xD *can't think of the right word* I think you wouldn’t, too, if you knew that a bullet might rush through your skull the very next moment you strove to make a move to escape – in this case: screaming desperately (or pathetically) for a rescuer.

Now that I've gotten that off of my chest...

After I got passed the very large first paragraph, I was pretty much hooked. There were a lot of tiny errors (mostly in grammar) that distracted me, which I would usually have pointed out before, but, like I've said what, three times? now, Kaf has gotten to them before I could. xD

I will, however, say that your tenses got confused at some point in here, and your introduction of Andy was a little on the shabby side.

jashbagabaldo wrote:Andy sighed and cleared his throat. Odd thing though – Andy was you . . . and there, you appeared for the first time and the last, by that door – and in my life.

I don't know for sure, but there was something about this that seemed a little... oddly worded, maybe? I'm not sure, but the transition seemed a little off to me. (Does that even make sense? xD)

It wasn't until after Andy's introduction that I got 100%, definitely hooked. Earlier, I was more or less only reading for the mystery-- I wanted to know what was happening. Afterwards, though, I'm not sure... the quality seemed to improve. Of course, this could just be because I really like things that are written like that. x]

Okay, so I'm running out of time here, so I'm going to cut this shorter than I wanted to. x]

I apologize in advance for how messy this was. o.o I was up all night trying to think of how to begin my novel, so my brain is a little... uncooperative. I hope that it helped just a little bit, though. o.O Remind me to never review anything again when I'm this exhausted.

Jashy. It's me. Hi.

Because of you and your wall requesting, you've already gotten some great reviews here. If my review sucks because I end up repeating what's already been said, I'm terribly sorry. I will try my best to find at least one thing that hasn't already been mentioned. If not, I'll repeat the things that I think are important. Hopefully though, I won't have to do that.

Thankfully, I think I have found some things to critique for you that has't already been mentioned. Overall, I really like this, Jashy. Plot wise, this is right up my street and exactly the kind of thing I'd normally read. Because of that, I may be slightly biased, but in a good way, so I guess that's a positive thing. I really liked some of your characters, especially Andy, which I'm assuming is the reaction you were hoping for. Yeah, there was one or two typos, but nothing worth worrying about. Besides, there's bound to be a way those typos and such can be taken out, right? I didn't submit anything, so I wouldn't really know. Basically, try not to worry about it.

My first critique for you would have to be that, at times, this did sometimes feel a little slow to me. I think there are some parts you could either cut out, or maybe make a bit shorter. Let's take the beginning, for example. I had to admit that if you hadn't requested for me to review this, and well, if I din't know it was written by the amazing Jash, then I don't think I would have read on. It's just that it felt awfully slow to me. You had a pile of physical descriptions, some descriptions that were edging on telling, not showing, and there wasn't really anything that had me hooked at the very beginning. Even when I realised that your MC was kidnapped, I wasn't as into it as I would have liked to have been.

Another time I found this dragging a bit was when you had that section full of news reports and such. You know, the ones that were talking about finding the criminals, what had happened and such? You had so many reports in there, and in general, they were all discussing the same things. To me, some of them seemed a bit pointless and weren't moving the story on. I definitely know that things are a bit too slow sometimes in this because I personally like slow paced stories, but parts of this were too slow for me. I mean, I don't know, it might just be me being too picky, but I do think that some areas in this could be sped up. At least a little bit, anyway. Overall though, it's not a huge problem.

Staying on the same kind of subject, parts of the beginning of this felt a bit like you were telling instead of showing. You were telling us that your MC was in the room, that she had been kidnapped, how she had been kidnapped e.t.c. It kind of felt like you were telling us these things just to explain them... as in, you felt like these details had to be included, so you just shoved them into the beginning to get them out of the way. To be honest, I doubt those were your intentions, but the problem is that it came across like that to me.

Something that makes my belief of the beginning being to telly is supported by a key phrase that was included in the beginning, which is I remember(ed). To me, I remember(ed) isn't often a very good phrase because it simply gives the atmosphere of telling, not showing. In this case, you went on to tell us how your MC was kidnapped. That part felt especially told, not shown, to me. I will be honest with you though here, Jash: I am being awfully, awfully picky on this subject. In general, it's not a huge problem, but I guess I'm just in a picky mood... x3 For that, I apologise.

As a whole, the way you expressed your MC's emotions was really great, but... it did feel lacking in places. Once again, I don't know if this is just me being picky or not, but I think that you could have really expanded on some of the emotions some more. A good example of where you created great emotions was the scene when Andy and your MC was in the room on their own. The way she felt about him was clear, so that was wonderful. The only big area where I would have liked to have seen more emotion was actually when she saw Andy's body. Don't get me wrong because you did a nice job, but I really think you could have expanded on it. Even if it means being melodramatic, I'd adore it if you squeezed every emotion you can think of out of your MC on that part.

I turned away swiftly, swallowing as tears trickled down my cheeks. Slowly nodding, I said, “I remember him, sir.”



It was you...

I cried – I cried for you as if you were my brother.

When it comes down to it, this was the only part where you really expressed your character's emotions when she saw the body. What followed was a description of who Andy really was. You then skipped three years. Does that help make things clearer? Now, this isn't the only area where you express the emotions about Andy's death, but when it comes to seeing the body, this is technically all you have. To be honest, you seemed to pay more attention to the other body compared to Andy's. *Is being horribly picky*

The only other negative comments I have for you are just little hicks that seemed odd to me. The first one is the scene where your MC ran to tell the police what had happened. Okay, pretend you're a police officer now. A young, thirteen year old girl runs into the station, she's yelling frantically, she has cuts and bruises, and I assume she'd be thin and pale because of lack of sunlight, food and such? and she comes in the middle of the night. Would you really just think she's mad? At thirteen? In a physical state like that? Personally, I'd listen to what she has to say. Plus, wouldn't her parents have reported her missing, so the police would have been looking for her anyway? Basically, I'm just saying that I found the police officer's reactions strange.

The second little hick has something to do with the body viewing. Would they have really let her see the bodies, especially after all that had happened to her? Fair enough, she may be the only one available to know what they looked like and such, but it still felt a little off to me. I mean, especially because she's so young, would they have allowed her to go into a morgue thing and view dead bodies? Plus, you said they had dirt and such on their faces? I always thought that bodies were cleaned before they were put in the morgue type things? They might still have cuts and bruises, but no dirt or anything like that. In case you haven't guessed yet, I know basically nothing about crime and such, so don't take my word for it. Some of the details here did seem a bit weird to me though.

Oh, one more thing! Sorry, I'm dragging on way too much here... I don't know if this is because I'm easily confusable, or because it wasn't, in fact, clear, but how did Andy die exactly? Was he killed by the police or by one of the criminals? You either haven't said exactly how he died, or you have, but you haven't made it stand out enough for me to remember it. If it's the latter, wherever you say how he died, make sure it's amplified. If it's simply because you haven't said how he died exactly, make sure you mention it somewhere! By how he died, I don't mean the way he died - I know he was shot in the head, but who killed him is what I can't seem to remember.

I've really blabbered on here, so I'm sorry about that. I just felt like I owed you a long, detailed review because you've read and reviewed all of Stop and Stare, and I haven't reviewed anything of yours in a while. Negatives aside, I really do like this, Jash, even if it may not seem like it after my overly picky critique. With a little bit of tweaking and some editing, this could be absolutely great. I'm proud of you, my friend!

The only thing left I have to say is that I'm not too fond of the title. Now, I like the idea of it, but I think you've got one word too many in it. This is just personal opinion, but I think that The Strangest Stranger would be better than The Strangest Strange Stranger. That just sounds like too much of a mouthful for me. Too many Strange's. Hehe, it's not a real problem or anything though. I just suck at tongue twisters, and this title reminds me of one.

*Is blabbering again... sorry...*

Keep writing!

xoxo Skins

Hey Jash! Ask and ye shall receive!Holy geez this is long though! It took a while for me to highlight the whole darn thing just so I could review it xD. Now as usual I'm not reading the reviews before mine so sorry if somethings have already been said.

Well lets get to it!

I roamed my eyes around while lying back slowly until my head touched the pillow.

She roamed her eyes around? As a beginning line it's really quite awkward, and doesn't pull me into the story at all. Try instead "My eyes roamed around" or "Roaming my eyes around" instead.

It wasn’t an accident . . . someone had deliberately knocked me out.

This is kind of a no brainer, so I'd cut it.

I hadn’t been doing anything but to stare at the green and red checker design of the table cloth. So I, with my unsuppressed jollity, had volunteered to buy them: the onions.

You've already stated that her mother forgot to buy onions, you don't need to mention them again. The reason she's going out isn't as important as the fact she DID go out and what happened to her because of that.

The bed bounced as I lay on my stomach,. I clutched clutching my ears. How many times had that man cursed me? – growling the foul words? How many times had he banged slammed my head on against the wall, and when I’d collapsed on the ground, he’d cursed again and laughed?

We as the readers don't know, so why as all these questions and leave them unanswered? Try adding something at the end like "it had been to many times to count" or something.

All I knew was when I was brought here, lack of food and sleep (one can never naturally sleep when one knows that one’s life is at stake) had caused me to feel as if I’d been here for an eternity.

The crossed out part is unneeded, get rid of it.

I’d felt like going insane – like an animal caged in darkness to be driven out mad.

You use the word mad a lot throughout this story, especially at the end. But I really liked this line, but I was a little confused by it at the same time. Driven out mad, do you mean she's going to be forced out? Or the fact that she's caged in the darkness is driving her to insanity?

I wasn’t in my clothes; I wore a silk, black night dress, far above my knees, too thin that my breasts embossed

Ehh...I don't like the use of the word embossed here. A lot of the words you use are just far to fluffy in my mind. Simple is good sometimes.

“Now you wait here as I fetch Andy. I’m gonna leave you two alone so you can play.”

I found someone else more pathetic than I: them.

Well see this kind of bugged me, and while it could be a powerful sentence, I feel like it lacks emotion behind it. Because they're pathetic in different ways it kind of doesn't work, you know?

and there, you appeared for the first time and the last, by that door – and in my life.

I don't know, I kind of don't like the change from just telling the story, to talking to someone.

“A dead body isn’t as warm as a living one,” the tattoo-covered man said, “but it’ll still do."

Oooh man this is so sick and creepy...it fits perfectly though.

Close enough to make my heart pound as if it was obliged to pump out a ton of blood.

It's not as if it suddenly had to pump a ton of blood, she's terrified is the reason, so I feel like this part is unnecessary.

Your presence gave me a headache.

This makes it sound like he just annoys her, and is a nuisance, not that she's afraid of him, and what she thinks he's about to do.

"Don't cry,” a voice said.

It's not a voice, some new random person didn't just walk into the room, she knows whose voice it is.

What did I look like? I had cried, I had been scared. Did I look beautiful? As pretty as what others had told me? Or did I look foolish as I faintly smiled back at you?

This whole part just bugs me, I find it unrealistic and I just don't like it.

I was terrorized, and looked back at you. “The locks are being opened, too.”

I don't think terrorized is exactly the right word, try terrified. Also if they're coming in of course they're going to open the locks, so it's unnecessary to say so.

“We can tell the authorities together.”

Your dialogue is unrealistic at times, I don't know anyone that talks like this. But I know English isn't your first language, so that probably has something to do with it.

Days passed. I realized how Philippine current and public affairs could sustain an issue to keep the mass intrigued.

This I had to read like six times to understand what you meant, it's too wordy, like I said sometimes simple is better.

The man remained silent, so the reporter asked his question again. Finally, the man answered: “To rape a woman...”

Your dialogue I found around this part to be extremely unrealistic, it was just...bland.

“Sexual assault is an inhumane act, ‘no?” she explained. “Our law – the law – strictly prohibits it. We have what we call the Anti-Rape Law of 1997… As stated in Article 266-A, rape is committed by a man who shall have carnal knowledge of a woman under certain circumstances, ‘no? Like through force, or intimidation. For example, the man threatened the woman that he would kill her, ‘no? – if she refuses to concede...”

Like this, you're too simple in all the wrong places. The way a reporter talks is supposed to be fluffy and wordy, this sounds like an awkward 15 year old's oral report. And what's with the ‘no?'s at the end of her sentences?

“They were going to kill me if I didn’t join their gang.”

“So you really had to do it?”

Ughhh again, it's so fake sounding it almost hurts to read it.

“The motivation for rape, ‘no? – let’s see... Actually, there is no single theory that explains it, eh, ‘no? But we can name several common motives: anger, desire for power, sadism, sexual gratification, under the influence of alcohol, or worse, drugs...

How could raping someone while under the influence of drugs be any worse than alcohol? It's still the same crime being committed.

“Effects of sexual assault are drastic,” the attorney explained, shaking her head. “Victims can be severely traumatized by the assault, ‘no? They might go insane. Their character is distorted; they become upset for no reason. They become stressed, ‘no? And because they’re afraid of being seen as a ‘dirty woman’, they prevent themselves from revealing the crime to their friends or families, or to seek the police or medical assistance...”

Mkay this attorney's dialogue needs to be fixed ASAP, it's really just bad. It's awkward and sounds like she knows barely anything on the subject and is just making things up as she goes along. Also why would a lawyer be talking about this sort of stuff, and not a psychologist ?

“It’s painful,” she said in a plaintive voice; she was at on the verge of crying, and I could see she was a strong woman. “—just painful.”

“What am I going to do, sir?” I asked the investigator. The investigator He patted my shoulder as we walked through a hall. He must have sensed that I was greatly bothered.

Three years have passed. I’m sixteen now. Just finished high school. Not a popular girl. Don’t have many friends. A loner most of the time. I’m just living my life.

Seven sentences here, combine some of them, they make it choppy and harder to read.

Hope I helped! Just post in my WRFF if you'd ever like another one!

~Hope

Hey Jash, here for a review!

Okay, so everyone else has given you some really in-depth and lengthy reviews *coughskinscough*, so if I repeat any points, I apologize.

First off, I think the story itself is touching and sweet, but a little unbelievable, mostly regarding Andy. I realize we don't know much about him, since our knowledge is limited to the girl's POV and she only sees him once, but still I feel like there should be more of an explanation. Why does he save her and risk his life to protect her? What's the motivating factor for him there? Is it because he's sick of knowing what happens to these women? Is he scared to do it? Does she remind him of some kind of innocent nature that he doesn't want to violate? Somehow, if you could just give us an insight into why he chooses to save her, I think it would add another dynamic to his character.

About the girl -- yes, she's figured out what's going to happen to her. I still don't understand why she wasn't trying to escape and get out; if it were me, I would rather risk death by a quick bullet to the head or heart instead of the prolonged violence intended by the men. I just find it hard to believe that she'd be laying on the bed, wondering about wooden doors, instead of trying to find some way to get out.

When it coems to the police station, I don't think they would really write her off as "mad." A young, disheveled girl in a skimpy outfit who comes in and reports a kidnapping and an attempted raping is not to be taken lightly.

I like the ending, that she's going into the field to search for the instigators and bring them to justice; full strength to her, I say! Her thoughts about Andy seem a little...odd. Yes, he did rescue her. Yes, he may have been handsome. But she's seriously thinking and wondering whether she'd have slept with him and maybe married him or something? Going a little far. Of course, I understand that this is in the romance section, so I suppose if that's the setup...

Which brings another point to mind. The name, as I think has been already mentioned, is a little too much. Not only is it a tongue-twister, but I thought it was going to be a humorous romance, too. You can imagine how I was feeling as the story progressed and I wasn't laughing... o.0 Haha, but joking aside, I do think you could cut it down to something like The Strangest Stranger or something not so repetitive.

All right, so those are the main points I noted and wanted to mention. I think this is a good story with a lovely, romantic, wishful note to an otherwise gritty and horrible subject. Good job keeping the story clean and classy, yet also real. Best of wishes to you for the contest!

skins wrote:....Okay, pretend you're a police officer now. A young, thirteen year old girl runs into the station, she's yelling frantically, she has cuts and bruises, and I assume she'd be thin and pale because of lack of sunlight, food and such? and she comes in the middle of the night. Would you really just think she's mad? At thirteen? In a physical state like that? Personally, I'd listen to what she has to say. Plus, wouldn't her parents have reported her missing, so the police would have been looking for her anyway? Basically, I'm just saying that I found the police officer's reactions strange.

Satire, girl. I hate to admit it, but.... PHILIPPINES...

The second little hick has something to do with the body viewing. Would they have really let her see the bodies, especially after all that had happened to her? Fair enough, she may be the only one available to know what they looked like and such, but it still felt a little off to me. I mean, especially because she's so young, would they have allowed her to go into a morgue thing and view dead bodies? Plus, you said they had dirt and such on their faces? I always thought that bodies were cleaned before they were put in the morgue type things? They might still have cuts and bruises, but no dirt or anything like that. In case you haven't guessed yet, I know basically nothing about crime and such, so don't take my word for it. Some of the details here did seem a bit weird to me though.

Ooooh... you've got a real good point about this!

But I've gathered up all my memories of past Philippine news and shows, well.... I've never seen them clean up the body. whoopz. I'm saying too much... They should do that, eh? tsk tsk...PHILIPPINES...

Oh, one more thing! Sorry, I'm dragging on way too much here... I don't know if this is because I'm easily confusable, or because it wasn't, in fact, clear, but how did Andy die exactly?

Philippine speculations... PHILIPPINES...

If one of them was you, I doubted what the investigator said. (You didn't fight the police...you fought with them.)

I sound so against my country... not really. It's just...
satire... :p

THANKS SO MUCH SKINS! I'll try to figure out these things... =))) Watch Philippine crime shows maybe. Thank you so much for the time... means a much, unc! *finally grins*

RangerHawk wrote:First off, I think the story itself is touching and sweet, but a little unbelievable, mostly regarding Andy. I realize we don't know much about him, since our knowledge is limited to the girl's POV and she only sees him once, but still I feel like there should be more of an explanation. Why does he save her and risk his life to protect her? What's the motivating factor for him there? Is it because he's sick of knowing what happens to these women? Is he scared to do it? Does she remind him of some kind of innocent nature that he doesn't want to violate? Somehow, if you could just give us an insight into why he chooses to save her, I think it would add another dynamic to his character.

Sarreh, girl... I left that for the readers to think about....

About the girl -- yes, she's figured out what's going to happen to her. I still don't understand why she wasn't trying to escape and get out; if it were me, I would rather risk death by a quick bullet to the head or heart instead of the prolonged violence intended by the men. I just find it hard to believe that she'd be laying on the bed, wondering about wooden doors, instead of trying to find some way to get out.

I had that part in the very first draft! Do you think I should put it up again? :\

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for the review ALL OF YOU! And for the likes.

Hey there Jashie! It's me. Ice. The horrible, procrastinating reviewer and princess.

You mentioned and emphasised on this being a satire (a political one?), but after reading this one, two, three times, this feels more like a short story/novella. Since people have done brilliant reviews on your piece from a short story point of view, I believe it’s time for me to provide another perspective. I blame myself for not doing this review earlier; I could have done this the easy way, but now I shall have to take apart your satire piece by piece. Yeah, I’m lazy

First, we have to define what a satire exactly is. Now, according to the Free Dictionary by Farlex, the word satire means

...a novel, play, entertainment, etc., in which topical issues, folly, or evil are held up to scorn by means of ridicule and irony.

A literary work in which human vice or folly is attacked through irony, derision, or wit.

Here, in the Strangest Strange Stranger (keep the title; it’s gorgeous), although many topics are presented in a nice and neat way, it doesn’t provoke much thought and/or further discussion from your readers. In a sense, I can understand why – this has something to do with a real situation in the Philippines but most of your readers here do not know what it’s about. (Of course, I am just assuming that most of the people here aren’t Pilipino. If I’m wrong, please do correct me! )

The background story, the reason why you are writing this down, is essential to any satire. Without it, your readers would be left with only thoughts like these (like moi): “What a well-crafted story! It has presented a really controversial subject in a nice way, don’t cha think?” I really don’t how to solve this, but I will provide a few suggestions at the end of my review. Oh my, I really haven’t reviewed in a long, long time

Before I start gushing on and on about how well-written and lovely and wonderful this is (it really is!), let us keep in mind that this is a satire, not a short story. It is supposed to be witty and full of irony. I’m not saying that this isn’t witty and stuff; it’s just that the ironic and ridicule part is very, very subtle. In some cases, subtlety in satires are appreciated and liked, but in this particular satire (because most of us don’t know the background story) you have no choice but to emphasis on particular bits and attack them with a dry sense of humour.

Do keep in mind that I’m viewing this as a satire. If we’re talking about a short story then I would have stopped rambling a long time ago.

If you really, really want this to be a satire, then I’m afraid you have no choice but to rewrite this all over. Your writing voice is too much of a story-teller, and all this descriptions(!) are just too short story like. Let me quote from Wikipedia (not a good source, I know, but it’ll have to do.)

A common feature of satire is strong irony or sarcasm—"in satire, irony is militant”—but parody, burlesque, exaggeration, juxtaposition, comparison, analogy, and double entendre are all frequently used in satirical speech and writing. This "militant" irony or sarcasm often professes to approve (or at least accept as natural) the very things the satirist wishes to attack.

You will have to use those weapons to present your satire. With your writing ability that sadly far surpasses mine I know that you can do a wonderful job.

But do you want to know what I really think?

Abandon this satire, take your short story reviewers’ suggestions (especially Skins and Ranger Hawk) and make this into a smart and moving piece of art that will be remembered in your readers’ hearts. Though then my review would have been done in vain. xD

But seriously, this already in itself is a really, really good story. Don’t rewrite this just so it could fit with this being a satire and all. But I’m not here to say what you should do, I’m just here to suggest ways to improve this; so please take my advice with a pinch of salt!

Anyways, keep writing, and if you want anything, just tell me!

~Ice.

WHOOO!!! Very helpful, Icy!!!! Love you so much. ;**

Hello there Jash!

It seems that the previous critiques has covered almost everything, and I apologize in advance if ever you see this review repetitive. But no worries, I have skimmed a few so I'll know if they have said it or not.

Anyways, here it goes.

At first, I was quite afraid that I might not get this done due to this story's length because I had been busy these past few days and even until now. But I'm glad I did read this because even if this is quite long, your piece is combined with romance, action and suspense genres and it was just easy to read. That I didn't even notice I was already already near the ending part. ^^

Let's discuss about the usual things when reviewing:

First of all, show don't tell. Enough said.

Grammar wise, there are some errors present here. Like for example your introductory line. It would have been better if you had to say "My eyes roamed around", instead "I roamed my eyes", because that would literally make me imagine that she pick out her eyes and let it roamed around the room... which is by the way, is weird when read. And also remember that this is the opening line, the hook of your reader's attention all throughout the story. So you should rephrase that one again.

There are also some areas where you can smoothen it out. Sometimes it distracts the flow. Be careful too with your punctuation. And also of your word choice, sometimes they fit, often they don't. ^^

Story Plot:

I like it. This may be one of the most unique stories I have read so far here in my YWS history life. Some improvements can be done which are already covered by the critiques before me. I don't really have much bad thing to say since Skins has pretty much said about the Police scene and the kidnapping event. And can I say that the "spitting" scene actually made me laugh, though it was a bit 'gross' (pardon my language) still it created a realistic kidnapping scene. Thumbs up for that bro.

Characters:

I like how you portray Andy. He comes out someone mysteriously bad at first but then it surprised me that he was the total opposite of the other bad guys present in your story. However, it actually came into my mind already that he was going to rescue her because his actions speaks that he was not interested about your main character. But then after a few matter of seconds, I was all like, "okay... he's bad after all." You know I said that at the back of my mind- the scene when he has this gun and the lights were out. Then I got surprised again *chuckles* that he just wanted to rescue her. See? Your MC's thoughts are drawing and letting your readers be in her situation, and that made this realistic which is one of the reasons why I like this.

Your main character's personality is standing out very well. I like her kind of snappy, brave voice and her thinking as well. Her speculations made me intrigue all the time. Nothing bad to say except that should she be feeling all weary and very weak after she ran into the police station, or why is that the police, after hearing the MC's story was true, actually left her in the station without giving her something to drink or anything, even just a quick check-up? Surely there could be at least one police officer or just a staff to comfort or anything.

When all's said and done, I thank you for the good read. I am impressed that you arrange the setting in our country and I might as well do it also. You know, for my future projects. But anyways, thanks for the requests. :d

Hope this helps and PM me for any questions.

Keep writing and peace out,
sistah

(aka yuri)

Jashy, my dear son,

Of course I still loff you. But I have a weird schedule and I'm only back this morning.

Well, I don't have much to say, except that I'm glad you posted this. Whatever genre/style it is, I think it's my favourite by you.

I do have to agree with . . . Someone (Ranger?) that I would have liked to understand Andy's motivations. Maybe a little scene where he says he can't do it. Maybe it's been done to his sister. Maybe . . I don't know. Something. Of course, it might be difficult because it's from the first person pov, but I'm sure you can find something.

Sorry this wasn't more help, but you already got awesome reviews.

Mom

Hey Jash!

I'm sorry being late but recently I've been doing many different things so my time on YWS is limited too.
Also, wow - it seems like you've gotten your hands onto many, many great reviews so I don't know how much of help I will be but I'll try my best. Also, sorry if anything I say is repeated. I skimmed over the previous reviews but didn't really read them. One more thing! Because it seems like most of the nitpicks have already been done and picked out, I won't be doing much nitpicking either. ^.^
So yeah, enough with the excuses - let me get on with this review.

The first thing I noticed was that there seemed to be plenty of wording errors here and there. Well, not like they were spelled wrong or anything but the fact that some of the words you used to describe things were a bit weird. Nothing too serious however, you crossed out one or two that you found yourself but it's difficult to catch them all, I know.
I know there was one instance in the very first line:

I roamed my eyes around while lying back slowly until my head touched the pillow

I roamed my eyes? Or, "My eyes roamed around? And where exactly were they roaming around?
The ceiling? Wall? Photos on the wall?

Also, your introduction to this piece was very weak in my opinion. There wasn't much that made me want to keep reading it actually, you need to make the introduction - whether it be a novel or a short story - something that will capture the readers attention and make them want to know more and continue reading. Opening with a scene like the one you have doesn't really do a good job of reeling the reader in. Try something with a little more spice - or something. lol ^^

When I began reading the middle part, I was suddenly confused when you decided to switch your POVs and format by going into the second person view. I think the transition between that could have been much, much smoother than what you had and I think I'd work on that part too. You see, I was like - wait a second, who is who now? Do you understand what I mean? I can't exactly explain my confusion, haha.

Andy sighed and cleared his throat. Odd thing though – Andy was you . . . and there, you appeared for the first time and the last, by that door – and in my life.

You just twirled everything in my brain with this one sentence. ::????::

As for your plot, it was slow progressing but it was interesting. I seriously thought that Andy was going to be a good guy and I was thinking to myself, "Oh no, it's going to be slightly Cliche no?" But that wasn't the case since he actually turned out to be a bad guy in the end and thats what kept it interesting. You spun it all around and that's how you hooked my attention again so ten points for you on that one. Then he went back to being and good guy and that was another twist so yay! I liked that continuos turn of events, really. ^^

What I liked about this story was how interesting you made it considering the topic. You made it quite realistic too. I've heard many things like this across the globe and it happens everywhere and it's a sad, terrifying thing to see and hear of. I'm quite impressed with the way you were able to make the love that she felt for him real too, I thought she was insane for that matter but apparently the further we went into the story the more I felt like it was a moment of appreciation or love or some extended type of 'liking' that they had for one another. I'm also glad that you made your Andy somewhat mysterious because that added to the story line. He was someone that shouldn't have been explained because there are people who can't exactly be understood when they do the things that they do. His vague yet strong character was portrayed quite well and I liked that part.

Overall, I seriously enjoyed reading this. You did a good job putting the story together. As other have probably already mentioned - this is quite long of short story so maybe if you posted it in parts it could have been easier to review and the length wouldn't scare away your readers as much. lol
In the end, I think that the things that should be worked on would be the beginning introduction and some rewording that I noticed as I read but I'm sure the those have already been pointed out. There were some parts that seemed to drag on but it wasn't much and nothing that I see that needs to be stated so yeah.

In the end, this was a good piece and one of my favorites from you.
Keep at it, Son.

-Your Father