She woke with the uncomfortable feeling of knowing everything was wrong.
Her head rested on the ground, there were corn shoots poking her in the face. She realised her pants were around her knees and she sensed an unsightly mess between her legs.
More immediately disturbing was the pain her body was making her aware of. Every inch of her was waking to the terrible knowledge of the violation.
Looking up she saw a myriad of stars and around her a silence she knew all too well.
The silence of desolation, the pervading sense of being alone within the expanse of the universe, leaving her vulnerable and flooded with personal humiliation. It was as if nature in respect of her situation stood back to give her the space she needed but enough to allow her to take in the magnitude of what had happened to her.
She remembered the boy and at that very moment found it impossible to say his name. She had fancied him, flirted with him, and now there was a price to pay.
She wondered what happened to her friend, the two girls had gone out together, always went places together but now she was alone, and the pain was throbbing all over.
She moved onto her side, her body objecting to her moving.
She lay there taking stock of her situation. Not only were her pants down on her knees, her top was torn, her breasts exposed and her hair, which she prided herself on, was a dishevelled mess.
Around her the silenced pulsed, the voices of her parents echoed in her mind, ….’the boy was trouble, he and his lot could never be trusted, don’t be alone with him’… and so they droned on.
She determined she was not going to be rescued and so rearranged herself sufficiently, she hoped, to get herself home.
They had been driving, drinking, having a great time and he had been all affectionate, and she’d loved the attention but when he started to grope and intrude she’d tried to object but it was then he hit her.
She’d been powerless against him. Through the now present pain, she could still felt his weight, his stale alcoholic breath against her ear as he grunted his way into her taking what she’d never recover.
Wrapping her arms around herself she took a tentative step forward, her body ached, her head pounded, and right now she needed to get home.
As she stumbled along, tears flowing and feeling the worst she’d ever felt, inside her, a series of interactions were happening that would challenge her in the years to come.
Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/12/09/sunday-writing-prompt-a-touch-of-frost/
Morpethroad 
oh … wow, now that’s a tale that speaks of the horrors and overwhelming violation of someone who misinterprets and makes one terrible mistake, in trust. And you’ve done a sensitive job of this story Michael –
and I have to admit, I’m a bit surprised at the path you chose, a bit unexpected for you, yes, in some ways, and certainly I wasn’t necessarily expecting this kind of idea/story to emerge from the prompt, but that’s okay – wherever the inspiration leads.
And yes, fine work of it – I think you’ve begun to showcase the overwhelming sense of hopelessness and the fallout – the huge miasma of reactions one experiences after such an awful event.
thanks for writing to the Sunday prompt 🙂
Thanks so much Pat. I saw the story in the face of the girl. Plus I know a real life experience like this.
how sad indeed –
Ten to one she never tells anyone what really happened.. Excellent write.
Thanks violet
She actually wrote a book about it.
Oh wow. I thought it was fiction. Most date rapes are never reported. Bully to she that did.
So well crafted the horror is potent but not prurient
Thanks for your comment and no never prurient
An unexpected yet compulsive read. Handled with exceptional sensitivity. Unfortunately, the story of our times. Though, in truth, previous times were any better.
I couldn’t stop reading (implying that I tried when I first realized the subject matter). Really powerful writing.
Thanks so much I appreciate your kind words.
Wow. When a writer can actually put you at the scene, when you feel the physical and emotional pain, that’s talent. I could also sense she blamed herself. No words were needed. Very excellent.
Thank you. I appreciate your kind words. I’m reading your blog and enjoying what I am reading. Nice to meet you Miss Harper. I too am a great lover of To Kill a Mockingbird.
I respect your writing. When you have time, please read “An attempt to Evade love ” and “Life Raft” I would so appreciate your feedback. Life raft was my only attempt to write a sex scene. They’re really hard and I’m a hopeless romantic. Those two pieces go together. Thank you again. Have you been published?
I’ll get back to you later, it’s 3.10am and I should be asleep.
I know that feeling. Get some rest.
Michael, the title is “Lost at Sea” it’s a continuation of “An attempt to Evade Love” Now, I’m stuck. If I turned this into a book it would make the length of a Thomas Wolfe novel look like a piece for Reader’s Digest. Lol
No I haven’t been published, apart from a page in a d’verse anthology a year ago. I don’t write for publication, I do so because I enjoy the writing process. I’ve written for a long time and in my mind once I finish a piece I want to move to the next one. I once wrote a musical and it could have been published, I had a publisher at the time, but I found their demands were such that I wasn’t prepared to devote the time to that as I had other projects I wanted to write.
I love to write about lots of different situations but my book is my bucket list. I can see the movie. My life has been so far from ordinary, I want to get it on paper. I’m a Southern writer. I’m afraid I’m not good enough.
The only way to improve your writing is keep doing it, and in doing so try to look critically at it, ask yourself how do I make it better. Maybe try your hand at some writing courses?