Friday, December 21, 2012


Nairobi, Kenya;


Sophie left the Carnivore at 6:30 p.m. and decided to walk home, a fifteen-minute walk away.

Everywhere, and in all directions, people walked and talked – life a beehive of human activity – going about their lives like there’s nothing going.

Glancing around, as though to make sure she was safe, she realized that there’s still enough light to qualify the time as daytime. Despite the security measures she’d been told to observe – to be more aware of her surroundings, not to be Facebooking and tweeting or listening to music while walking – she plugged her iPod earphone buds to her ears (her foible) and also gave way to the temptation of Facebooking as she ambled home.

She walked on, Rihanna’s Russian Roulette playing to her ears, at the same time chatting on FB, liking what her friends posted and sharing their pictures as she commented on their status after writing gibberish electronic social graffiti on their walls.

Sophie was completely unaware of the two men following her. She took a narrow street, a shortcut, and found herself walking alone. She looked back and saw the two men, but she was closer to her destination; home.

 She didn’t feel concerned at first, not until she glanced over her right shoulder and saw the men running, catching up on her, closing in. Within no time they were onto her. One of the men slammed her to a wall, and before she could scream, an adhesive tape was stuck to her lips sealing them as though to keep a secret. Plastic cables lashed her wrists and legs together.

A sharp prick on her neck, as that of a hypodermic, brought a thick drapery of darkness that festooned her vision.

Sophie came to four hours later. She was lying on a bed, her arms tied and anchored behind her head. Her legs too were roped to the metal frame of the bed. And then she made another discovery – she was naked, a white sheet draped between her legs.

A new kind of fear swept through her like a cold fire and she started to pass out. She couldn’t be hundred percent sure, but it felt like so – she had been over-raped.

She tried to survey the room – it was odd, everything seemingly rustic. That was it – she’s was at somewhere no one would find her. The only way was to talk her way out of this nightmare, to survive, to live to fight another day. As all this went through her mind, she realized that she was not alone.

“Hello, beautiful,” a hoarse male voice said. “Ain’t it kinda wonderfully romantic?”

That’s when realization tumbled onto her like a ton of a thousand bricks.

She knew that voice, knew it very well.

It was her disgruntled lover. He’d been stalking her, threatening her if she didn’t give in to his advances (in his wildest wet dreams), driving her crazy.

Well, she’d play by his rules if she wanted to get out of this nightmare. Sleep with the much loathed enemy; even sell part of her soul to the devil himself.

“See, Willy, I could do what you want. You know you don’t have to do this,” Sophie said desperately. “Sorry I have been a bitch, playing hard to get. It was just a game.”

But she had a plan. Once she had the opportunity, she’d kick him in the balls, where it hurt most. She knew enough judo to disable him, as big as he was. Then she’d run like hell – for her life.

“You don’t seem to understand, do you?” Willy said. “This is a game, too.”

With that, Willy tore away the sheet between her legs and forced himself inside her for the umpteenth time. He raped her for hours until she could take no more, then climbed off her.

“Yes, you could do what I want, but would you do it?” Willy asked her. “The game has just started. It’s you whom I want. Let’s give dad a call, perhaps he’ll make us rich.”

“Please,” Sophie pleaded. “My father will give you whatever you want. Just let me go.”

“That’s the spirit, dear,” Willy snorted. “Dad’s gonna pay your dowry, then we elope.”

This time round, Sophie threw up.



Copyright ©Vincent de Paul, 2012.

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