A Letter to My Assailant
Dusk it was.
A serene, nerve settling lull.
The sky was flaming in a shade of tangerine.
A blush-pink feathered Robin
lay dead on the porch.
The wind was out of breath.
Her throat a cracking scorch.
She felt raw, standing naked in disgust
inches away from the bird.
She heard his footsteps
Her face camouflaged itself in a crooked smile.
He overlooked the brass monkey weather
behind her countenance.
The sky was a blazing lilac now.
He lifted her face,
steering his eyes over the livid, contused flesh
that marked a testimony to the affair
that altered her life.
He elucidated it, his compassion.
He called it endearment.
A common household blunder.
He promised her, protection.
Vowed to love her.
The sky was a hovering dark silver.
She looked and looked at this mortal
bestowing a seething rage. Her face now spilled a bare wasteland consumed in vivacious fire.
She elucidated it, her rage.
She called it assault.
A vexing craze of a predator.
She promised Lilith’s wrath on him.
Vowed to ravage down his entire existence
painted in her black fury.
The sky was smudged with silhouette of ghosts gurgling moonbeams on their faces.
The trigger was pulled.
The sound echoed into an inky smile.
He fell. Fell hard.
She stepped over her wrecker’s body
turned into a Phoenix in flames.
The sky was now a grave tragedy of bland folly.
Apoorva Raman is an independent scholar and was a postgraduate student at the University of Lucknow. Her musings have been published in Rhetorica: A Literary Journal of Arts, Daath Voyage: An International Journal of Interdisciplinary Studies in English, and the International Journal of English and Studies. She is currently exploring her academic interests at the intersection of literature and education. She prefers collecting bookmarks, fallen flowers and dreams.
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