Survivor-Short Story

He raped her repeatedly for a full day. Then he tossed her in front of a government hospital. She didn’t see his face; he had masked her eyes. Yes, he was a rapist but not a murderer.

The next day the headlines screamed “Raped” in bold letters but now everyone was used to these headlines.  They just turned the pages as if nothing had happened. But for Tracy, life had changed.

Due to excessive bleeding, she was moving in and out of conscious. The doctors worked on her furiously, seething with rage inside. One doctor in particular wondered how two men born from the same species could be so different: The rapist who used her and threw her away and he who was trying to save her.

The bleeding stopped; Tracy cried a loud piercing cry. Her nightmares had become a reality. One of the doctors, Dr. Anderson probed her about her family. Tracy said she had a mother who lived on 3rd Avenue. She regained her composure and was able to give her statement to the police. Her mother came and she cried again. She couldn’t recall when someone had grabbed her from behind while she was on her way back home. No part of her wanted to relive that moment but it was vital information if she wanted him to be caught. She described the route to the police officer as much as she could remember. The police officer had seen too many cases of these and knew that if not caught he would strike again.

It was a month, since that day. The day she wanted to forget but could not. She puked even at the thought of food. But this time she felt a strange feeling inside her. She felt a life may have been planted within her. She puked again.

Her worst fear was staring at her in her face. The home pregnancy test confirmed her fears. The hospital had taken precautions they had said. They had given her pills to take. Then how could this happen? Why did she feel that god was laughing at her? Wasn’t it enough that she felt unwashed even after having a bath three times a day? Wasn’t it enough that even a gaze from a stranger repulsed her? No, she thought, she would not keep the child. . But she had been brought up with values, values which condemned her from taking another’s life. Her mother told her maybe she could see now what the rapist looked like if she decided to keep the child. That night she tossed and turned but the thought of facing her beast, gave her new hope.

She took care of it. She had the medicines, she bore the pain. She had him.

The labor lasted for 8 hours. But she didn’t cry. She wanted to see him. She hated him already. The nurses bought him close to her but she didn’t want to touch him. In the middle of the night, he wailed and wailed and the nurses didn’t heed him. She staggered out of bed and held him for the first time. She looked at him. He was crying but he was innocent. He had her eyes and her nose. She tried to see any unique features but she saw none. The more she saw him up close, the more he resembled her.  She cried for the first time in nine months. She cried because she had to give him up the next day but now her heart wanted to keep him. Father Francis had signed him up for adoption at the local orphanage and there was no one who wanted a rapist’s child. But now the child in her hand was hers and not that of the rapist.

She had survived that day, she had survived the full nine months and she was going to survive motherhood. She would raise him to be a better person that his father could ever be. She was a survivor.




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