• Abuse.

    Again.


    You'd think I'd be used to this by now. But I'm not. It still hurts, regardless of how many times I hear the same, scathing, high-pitched voice, knifing at my heart repeatedly from all sides. Over and over again.
    A perfect Prometheus, I am.


    It is incessant.


    When the abuse seems to stop and die out, I am wronged by another brutal assail. I feel like screaming and open my mouth, but purse my lips as quickly as they had separated.
    I know.
    I know I shouldn't.

    It dawns on me that it's my fault. So what's the use in retaliation? This is my punishment. A way for me to repent.

    It finally stops. What had actually been a mere twenty minutes feels as if it had been twenty years instead. I stride into my sanctuary where I can get some level of protection. Stealthily, silently, warm drops rain on my face and follow the curves of my cheeks. It feels worse than being stabbed. The water feels as if it's burning into my face as it runs down. It's not warm anymore.

    Suddenly, footsteps. I look frenetically for a means of retreat. I quickly move to imitate a corpse in a corner of the room. The door opens.

    Thunk. Unexpectedly, a dull "thunk" is all I hear, followed footsteps leaving my refuge. I wait for a little bit until the coast is clear, until the footsteps are inaudible. As I go to my workstation, a plate of cut apple pieces catches my eyes.

    My favorite fruit.

    Rain falls. Instead of sticking on to my face like glue, it dances. Dances for happiness that despite the arguments, despite the feelings of animosity, it's all temporary.
    There is always hope at the bottom of all evil.


    The so-called forbidden apple actually gives others a second chance.