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Amid the Morning Darkness a Short Story

I believe a person’s character is shaped by their experiences. These events may be positive or negative, important or trivial, by chance or by choice. Nonetheless, these happenings become the context of each person’s life and as such, they influence a person’s reaction to any other given situation.  
 
Sometimes we learn from our involvements, and other times we question the necessity.  
 
This story is about the latter of the two. This disheartening encounter has impacted my life profoundly and in such an intense manner that my personality has been altered.  
 
One bitter cold morning in November of 1997…
 
I had always enjoyed living in the city.  I had come to depend on the convenience of having everything I needed within walking distance. My neighbourhood, at that time, was one of attached three-story homes.  Each brownstone had its own character.  I found those historical homes on tree-lined streets to be pleasingly beautiful. Nestled throughout the area were several charming parks, some with statues and another with a fountain, but all encircled by flowerbeds and trees. It was quiet and peaceful and the appearance had captured me. When we moved to that area of the city, we were aware it was surrounded by rougher neighbourhoods but we were taken by its quaintness. It was perfect for a young couple living in the city and for a while, we were quite content and very happy there.  
 
Like so many other mornings, I awoke at five o’clock to the music emanating from my alarm. I reached over to put the voice of Paula Cole to rest. Still half asleep, I rolled over and kissed Francis lightly on the forehead and slowly rose from my cosy bed. Robe on, I headed for the kitchen to make coffee. My routine went uninterrupted as I showered, dressed and prepared for my busy day at school. I made a cup of coffee for my husband to be, and entered our room to bid farewell.  
 
“I love you”, I said, and I did, more than the world.  
“I love you too, princess,” he said in a groggy voice. “Have a good day.”  
I left our bedroom wishing I could curl up next to him and sleep a bit longer.  
 
Little did I know how much I should have followed that instinct. But, my students needed me and off to work I go, or so I thought.  
 
My walk to the subway was about eight blocks, but in the winter months it seemed like eight miles when the temperature is so horribly cold. So, I bundled up securely. I heaved on my woolly long coat, hat and gloves and wrapped my neck with a scarf to prepare for the blustery weather outside. I removed my keys, with mace attached, from the hook and headed out the door.  
 
I entered the darkness and started my brisk walk down my scarcely lit street. I saw the familiar figures of the morning joggers I pass daily.  I said brief hellos to the caring souls who venture into the cold, at such a premature hour, to walk their dogs.  It appeared to be a typical morning until, I thought I heard someone behind me.  Without observation, I concluded it was simply someone headed for their car or something of the like.  I did however, cross, and walk on the other side of the street.  
 
Again, I heard the sounds of footsteps behind me.
 
Although distant, I retrieved my mace from my coat pocket and continued to walk, quickening my pace. My heart began to pound as I felt the presence of a person close behind. I reasoned it was just a person walking towards the subway, the same as myself.  
 
I paused, turned around to confront my fear and put my mind at ease. I only caught a glimpse, a dark figure, a man, massive and ominous, rapidly coming towards me.  
 
“You startled me!” I exclaimed, and hesitated for a response.  
 
When none came, I, now terrified, pivoted to run. I did not get but one step further when two, enormous, bear-like arms engulfed my head and neck. I attempted to scream as his immense paw covered my mouth.  
 
“Don’t make a sound or I’ll kill you,” his deep voice whispered in my ear.  
 
The use of my mace was insufficient as I was disoriented and spraying above my head as well as behind me. Encumbered by my winter cover and the strength of my attacker’s arms, I was rendered helpless. I had no leverage to defend myself. Easily, twice my size and thrice my weight, I had an ample disadvantage. With one substantial arm, tightly around my neck and his gigantic hand gripping my jaw while covering my nose, he drew me into an alley. As I struggled, he dragged me behind a fence, shielding me from anyone that may happen by.  
 
My heart pounding, I could hear the blood rushing to my head as adrenaline spread through me and my body began to shake. He tightened his hold around my throat, his lock, firm and secure; it would take minimal effort for him to snap my neck.  
 
“I know you got some money, bitch,” he snarled as I felt his hot breath on the back of my upper neck.  
 
“It’s in here, take what you want,” my voice quaked as I thrust my bag forward.  
 
I had hoped he would loosen his clutch on me to reach for the bag, affording me a chance of escape.  
 
“You get it out,” he commanded in an angry but quiet voice.  
 
Not the response I was hoping for. Compliantly, I followed his demand and produced my subway fare from the small pocket inside my bag.  
 
“This is all the money I have,” I explicated with trembling breath. I tried to keep my hand from quivering as I held the money out to my side. He constricted his hold further, choking me as he reached to seize the money from my hand.  
 
“I know you got more than this.” The contempt in his voice sent a chill down my spine.  
 
“It’s all I have,” I protested.
 
Obviously not believing me, he began to search the pockets of my coat and clothes with his free hand. I felt nauseous as he groped and felt around inside each pocket. It felt as if my heart would beat out of my chest as I my intuition told me this man wanted more than money. I was frozen in silence, numb, unable to breathe, praying for this monster to leave me be. He extracted my identification wallet from the inside of my coat and shoved it into my hand as the sun began to rise.  
 
“Open it,” he commanded.  
 
“There is no money in it,” I explained as I revealed its contents.  
 
“You have a money card,” he spoke in a devious tone. “We can go to a cash machine.”  
 
He gripped my upper body with his free arm and attempted to transport me farther into the alley.  
 
“NO!” I shouted, struggling, wrestling to free myself from his powerful clutch.  
 
I weighed my options. I was not going to an ATM. Furthermore, I was not going farther into the alley, away from the street, away from hope of rescue, where God knows what would occur. The best case scenario was that someone, anyone, would hear our scuffle and come to my aid. I had not considered the worst outcome.  I writhed and twisted my body until I was almost free. Then, with one quick, vicious blow to my back, my assailant slammed me to the ground. He pressed one hand firmly into my back, limiting my ability to breathe and with the other hand, he forced my face down, violently into the gravel.  
 
“See, now I have to kill you, bitch.”  
 
His voice was inhumane. I froze, paralyzed by fear. I dare not move. I did not scream nor cry. I barely took a breath.  
 
“Please, don’t kill me,” I whispered, almost too myself.  
 
A million thoughts raced through my mind. How will he kill me?  Does he have a weapon? Will I die quickly or will someone come across me later and escort me to a hospital; only for me to die after giving those close to me a glimmer of hope for my survival. I felt sorry that I never had the opportunity to have children or make my mother a grandmother. I thought of Francis, my best friend and soul mate. He would be devastated and heartbroken. So many plans and experiences, never to come to fruition. I thought of my students at school, their lives already filled with such sadness and violence. I will be one more casualty for which they must grieve. I surrendered and accepted my destiny.  
 
“Don’t fucking move,” his voice still cold and icy.  
 
I obeyed, and this man released his restraint and simply walked away. He disappeared down the alley.  
 
I stayed there, on the cold, gravel ground, warm tears rolled down as the sharp wind stung my cheeks.  
 
I truly believed I would die that day. My assaulter was never captured and, for a while, this unknown man possessed my peace of mind. He had stolen it from me on that frigid day in November. For what seemed like an eternity, I was frightened and anxious every minute of every day. I refused to step outside unaccompanied. I had come to hate those beautiful brownstones on tree-lined Bolton Street. Subsequently, Francis and I packed our belongings and moved to another part of the city.  
 
It took a long time for me to adjust but eventually I did. They say, time heals all wounds. Sometimes, I question the necessity of experiencing such a trauma. What lesson was there to be learned? Of that, I am unsure but I do know I am kinder and more compassionate towards others and myself. One never knows the experiences of a stranger. Inasmuch, I do not judge, denounce or gossip but treat all others with dignity and respect.  
 
And finally, I have come to believe, resilience is a blessing.
Written by mel44 (Melgar)
Published | Edited 2nd Sep 2023
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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