It did happen to me

Disclaimer The content of this story may be disturbing for some people. This was first published on #ArtoonsInn and was written to the prompt ‘Lie’. This story was the most read story for the event.




9:30 pm

I taste raw fear.

They look like a pack of rabid dogs. I back away from them and stumble, losing my bag. Oh no, my phone. I try to grab the bag but miss it. Terrified, I turn and run.

They chase me and cut off my escape. I retrace my steps, only to back up against a wall. I look around. In the deserted underpass, there is no saviour.

They close in on me. I turn to the left but one of them thwarts my intent. My eyes dart to the right, looking for an escape route. There is none. I am boxed in. The wall behind me stinks of urine, still, I press against it, cowering as they advance – all five of them.

I have read incidents of such things happening to women. But, I always believed that such a thing would never happen to me, that too in my city. My city is safe.

This isn’t happening.

‘Please…please, let me go,’ I whimper, pleading. I am weeping. My tears make the alpha laugh. He draws closer, eclipsing me as he looms over my diminutive form.

Looming over me, he sneers.

Aroused, the others join in, laughing, slapping their thighs and each others’ backs. They gesticulate lewdly as they fondle the bulges in their pants and thrust their pelvises at me. One smacks his lips, another licks them deliberately. My brain freezes. No, no…please…no. I know what is coming. Yet, I can’t believe it. I can’t move. My fear has frozen me.

They surround me, toying with me, playing with me. I smell day old sweat on them. I sob. Hands folded, I beg them, ‘Plea…please…let me go. I won’t tell anyone…please.’

Their unkempt hair, unwashed bodies, and alcohol-induced stupor spell only one thing. Propelled by basal instinct I yell, ‘Help…help me.’ Someone, please help me.

They howl.

‘There’s no one here to help you,’ one of them brays.

They start unzipping their pants. One of them unbuttons his shirt, sheds it. I can’t give up. I scream louder, ‘help…hel…’

The alpha pounces on me. One hand clamps on my mouth, cutting me off mid-scream. The cold steel of his knife bites into the flesh of my neck.

‘Shhhh…chup*.’ He hisses. His eyes lock with mine, inches away, seething in anger. I see sadism and uncontrolled lust in them. I can smell the cheap country liquor on him. No, please…no.

My bladder empties of its own violation. Hands grab me, pin me against the wall. An accomplice yanks at my clothing, pawing at me. Naked, they throw me down. The alpha falls on me, crazed by his savage libido. I fight. I kick and claw at his face. He slaps me hard till my head reels. I go limp but still attempt to scream. Enraged he clamps his hands around my neck, squeezing…

As my life ebbs, I realize – Such a thing did happen to me.


Chup – quiet


Author’s note –The world is a scary, unsafe place. We hear stories of brutal rapes happening everyday and yet we believe it will never happen to us…until it does. This story is dedicated to women who have lost their lives to brutal rape or who are survivors.

Image credit – pixabay

About Sonal Singh

I believe that life is a repertoire of anecdotes. The various situations that we encounter, the many incidents of every day, the people we meet, our conversations with them; all make life a melange of tales. And, that is what I attempt to capture through my writing. My cooking is no different! It reflects my love for travel and my love for innovation. The kitchen is my happy place. So, even though by vocation I am a recruiter (, by passion I am a writer, home chef and a hodophile.

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