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Little Maria

Below is the seventeenth, and final segment of a new short story, ‘Little Maria.’ While the story is new, it is based on a chapter from my novel, Unidentified Woman, a literary crime about rape, revenge and redemption. I believe it stands alone as is, and will reward you handsomely when you read it.

*** And then, suddenly, in the middle of them all, I see the black beautiful car. The one that came to our village one day last fall and ended my life as I knew it and loved it. The one Mario pulled me into. The one he took me in and drove me away to my first rape.
And again, like in a twisted mirror, I see myself reflected in that shiny car. But no longer I am that innocent girl, ready to be plucked away like a pretty flower. NO. Only one year older I am, or maybe a little more than one year older. But really, Adela, the way I see it now: I am ten years older. Or maybe even one hundred years older! Old woman warrior, that what I am. And I have this torch in my hand.
So I throw it into the car through the half-opened window. And I stay still, until I see the fire catches on in the seats of the car and begins to bloom and grow. Only then do I turn around and walk away toward the gates.
Who left them open? No guards tonight? The police and government officials are all here. No need to worry then about leaving the gates open. They can come and go as they please. They can eat the farm’s pigs. They can drink the farm’s tequila. They can smoke the farm’s coca. They can rape the farm’s girls.
Can hear them scream and cry all the way here, my poor sisters. Don’t worry, I tell them in my heart, I am on my way to bring you help. But still, I look back again. Cannot move yet, as if I am stuck to the ground. Then I see how the beautiful black car is exploding in the air like a big mushroom of fire. See the bright orange flames of my pretty flower spreading around to the other cars. See a garden of cars blooming in beautiful fire.
Now I can look ahead. And far off above the high mountains I see a glimmer of orange light. From where, I trust, the sun will soon rise. Hear men shouting and hear gunshots too. But I am not afraid anymore, Adela. I am a wounded bird no longer. I can fly now.

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Little Maria

Below is the sixteenth segment of a new short story, ‘Little Maria.’ While the story is new, it is based on a chapter from my novel, Unidentified Woman, a literary crime about rape, revenge and redemption. I believe it stands alone as is, and will reward you handsomely when you read it.

*

Wake up in terror. For a moment I’m not sure where I am. In my dream there was a big fire in our village. Remember the fire Alfredo once made, Adela, on the eve of Dia de los Muertos? Papi used to call him the village idiot. Others did so too. Maybe he was, don’t know, because he set fire to his parents’ home while he was still living with them. He was so happy, dancing around the burning house. Some of our village people chased after him, while others tried to put out the fire. Do you remember, Adela, that big fire? Or am I still dreaming?
Sit up on my mattress suddenly and slide my feet into my sandals. Don’t think anymore, just act. Walk to the door of our empty sisters’ hall. But before I leave, in the doorway already, I look back one more time. Just to make sure. Then I close the door.
Outside it’s still dark, but I know it’s already Dia de los Muertos. Just know that, Adela, don’t ask me how. The main yard is empty: everyone is still in the big barn, celebrating. Hear the music. Hear the singing and the laughing. Hear the screams of my sisters. Hear gunshots too.
But it doesn’t bother me. I walk to the main yard and stop by the well, where Mario and El Meya killed that worker who raped the new girl. There are burning torches there so I lift one up and walk away with it. Nobody is around, Adela. Nobody sees me or cares to take notice. Only the mean dogs of the farm are here, but tonight they are all chained. They can bark all they want. They can do no harm to me.
Walking as if I’m floating on air, so light on my feet I am. Maybe I’m still in my dream. See all the cars near the farm’s gates, parked very close to one another. Like our herd of sheep back home. But I see no drivers inside the cars. They are all at the party.

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Little Maria

Below is the fifteenth segment of a new short story, ‘Little Maria.’ While the story is new, it is based on a chapter from my novel, Unidentified Woman, a literary crime about rape, revenge and redemption. I believe it stands alone as is, and will reward you handsomely when you read it.

Day of the Dead:

Hear shouts and orders all day. There is a big celebration tonight ahead of Dia de los Muertos. We work all day to prepare for it: clean the big barn for hours. All the girls—no factory work for them today. We fix up the whole place, the farmhouse and the yard too. The pariah dogs are chained already. Lambs and pigs are slaughtered and are spinning over the fire. When the sun goes down torches are being lit everywhere. Paper skeletons and sugar skulls, some real ones too, are hanging now in every corner for decoration. We even splash water on the dusty ground.
Mariachi band arrives at sunset and starts playing and singing. How strange: forgot there is music and singing in this world. Cannot move, just standing still on the balcony and listen to them. How beautiful it all sounds. Almost like home.
All the girls take shower and get new dresses. They look very nice. Not me—I stay in my dirty old sackcloth. Dumb Little Maria, damaged forever. Just watch the guests arrive, that’s all. Never saw so many nice shiny cars before. Police cars too. Can see policemen in uniform coming out of the cars. El Meya and Mario greet them. They shake hands with the policemen and lead them to the barn, where the music is merry and the smoke is heavy. Can see it rising from the roof up to the sky.
Big Mamá is wearing a real dress. Her hair is arranged high and she wears lipstick. Never saw her like that before. She orders me to stay inside the sisters’ hall and not dare go out. She takes all the girls with her but me.
Think of you, Adela, as I lie down on my mattress. Can see you in your beautiful white dress you used to wear. Remember how we decorated our houses together? How we led the procession to the cemetery once, holding hands, our proud parents and all the people of our village behind us? Can still hear the gunshots. The way I hear them now.
Hear music and singing voices too. Hear laughter and giggles. Breathe the smoke and smell the meat being cooked. The only one not invited to the party is me. Stay alone in the sisters’ hall, so big and empty now.
But it’s difficult to fall asleep. Think more and more of what I would do to them if I ever get the chance. Those men who raped me, I mean. Imagine very ugly things. Feel like I can kill someone now if I ever get the chance. Like Mario or El Meya. But just thinking about it frightened me also. Don’t recognize myself anymore, Adela. Don’t know what is happening to me. Hope you don’t hate me. Hope you would still be my friend when I come back home one day. You were my only true friend at school.
Maybe I should run away now. What do you say? But where to? Close my eyes and try to imagine it: running away into the desert, into the hills where the coca field is. And farther away even, into the high mountains. Keep thinking about, just as I feel I’m falling asleep.

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Little Maria

Below is the fourteenth segment of a new short story, ‘Little Maria.’ While the story is new, it is based on a chapter from my novel, Unidentified Woman, a literary crime about rape, revenge and redemption. I believe it stands alone as is, and will reward you handsomely when you read it.

“It’s all yours, she tells me when I hand the box back to her. I’m too fat as it is, she says and taps on her big belly, as if I don’t see it. As if I didn’t feel it when she hugged me. Now come here, she orders and directs me to the sink. So I do as she says, and wash my hands and my face under her guidance. Brush my teeth for the first time since I was taken away from home. Look at the strange face in the mirror and don’t recognize it. See only sad, tired eyes. See pimples too. See a different girl. Hate what I see.
She brushes my hair gently meanwhile, then puts some red lipstick on my lips. She ties my hair with the red ribbon from the box of chocolates. She turns me around and hands me the box. No work for you today, Little Maria, she says. You earned it. She hugs me again, but I turn my face away when she tries to kiss me. Take the box but don’t move. Afraid she is angry. Go ahead, she waves her hand at me, do whatever you want today. But don’t leave the house. I will call you if I need you.
Can’t believe how lucky I am. So lucky that when I enter the empty sisters’ hall I’m tempted to stop by the icon of the Virgin Mary and say a thankful prayer to her. But I don’t. Not yet.
Lie down on my mattress and stare at the ceiling, at the cracks and cobwebs. Eat another piece of chocolate. Very slowly I eat it. Feel as if the taste of the chocolate in my mouth lifts me off the mattress. Stay suspended in the air above it. Maybe if I eat all of it I will fly all the way to heaven. Or even back home to my family. And to you, Adela. Going to eat it all and see.
But then, on second thought, get up and do something else with it. Place one little piece of chocolate at the center of every mattress where each girl sleeps. I am only one piece short. Hope the last two will share one.
Lie down on my mattress again and place my hands on my chest, over the heart-shaped pendant. The one you gave me, Adela, for my tenth birthday, with the golden necklace. It’s the only thing I still have from home. Close my eyes and see you going to school. You are alone. Call your name. Ask you to come jump rope with me again. Come share a piece of chocolate with me. But you just keep on walking. You don’t hear me at all.”

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Little Maria

Below is the ninth segment of a new short story, Little Maria. While the story is new, it is based on a chapter from my novel, Unidentified Woman, a literary crime about rape, revenge and redemption. I believe it stands alone as is, and will reward you handsomely when you read it.

“He pushes me to the ground and turns me around. He looks at me like some wild animal. What does he want? I have no money. I have nothing for him. Scream again. This time he slaps me, once on each cheek. See the skies above him swirling like the water around the roots of the plants. He tears my shirt open and kisses my chest. My neck too. Feel how my legs are being spread apart. He lifts my skirt up and pulls my panties down. Maybe he wants to check my private part too. Why do they all…?
He does something in his pants and then I feel it. I feel a sharp pain and then something hard getting inside me, cutting me like a knife. He lets me scream, while he pushes it in and then pulls it out again. Why he keeps doing this?
He wants to kill me this way, I think. Where is God? I call on him: pray for him to strike this man dead and take him out of me. He groans real loud just then and pushes even harder. Feel something streaming deep inside me. Someone must have hit him on his head. That’s why he groans so hard, like the pigs in the farmyard. That’s why he falls on top of me as if he is dead. So heavy, breathing so hard. He doesn’t even move. Maybe God heard me at last.
But still, he breathes. And not so hard anymore. How come?
He pulls out of me and gets up. I’m burning inside: from the hurt and from the pain and from the shame. Don’t know why I feel shame—did nothing wrong. Can’t move or even bring my legs back together. My school skirt is still up but there is nothing I can do about it. Can’t move. My eyes are closed but I can see Mami at home in her kitchen, preparing dinner. She knows nothing. She would never believe me.
He is alive. Can hear him pulling his pants up and buckling his belt. He is whistling. Don’t know that song he is whistling. Why is he so happy, while I’m so sad? Why didn’t I listen to the secrets the wind was trying to tell me, as if urging me to run away? And where was God when I needed him the most? Busy with other, more important things? He let me down again, that’s what he did. Don’t need him anymore. This man was stronger than him. And he left something inside me. It’s dripping.
Maybe it’s the water from the water hose. Or it’s in my private part. Must have peed I was so scared. Without thinking much I touch it. It’s wet and warm, so I look at it. My fingers are full of blood. Lightning strikes my chest and my head at the same time. Dark is all I see now. Then nothing.”

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Little Maria

Below is the fifth segment of a new short story, Little Maria. While the story is new, it is based on a chapter from my novel, Unidentified Woman, a literary crime about rape, revenge and redemption. I believe it stands alone as is, and will reward you handsomely when you read it.

Know already what virgin is. Mami warned me to stay that way until I marry the man I love. You and I talked about it a few times, Adela, remember? Feel like talking directly to you now. Do you hear me at all?
Big Mamá hands me a torn nightgown, thick and rough like an onion sack. She bundles my clothes into one little pile, my lovely school skirt I love so much as well, and hands it to me. She then lifts me up like I was some little doll and places me on a stool. She is using this threatening voice again, telling me to listen up. Nothing I can do but listen. Her teeth are yellow and some are missing. She has a small mustache too, almost as thick as my Papi’s. You’re going to sleep now, she continues with her instructions, because tomorrow morning you’ll get up early to work. You’ll wear these clothes, she points at my school uniform that’s under my arm.
Will I go to school too, I ask her. Big Mamá strokes my hair gently. Such a surprise. Surprise that it feels so good. She even smiles at me with her ugly yellow teeth and says: This place is your school, Little Maria, and I’m your teacher and your headmaster. You’ll do as I say, and everything we’ll be all right.
Don’t know what she means by that. This place is not my school—I love my school. Think about it when she leads me back to the hall where all the girls are. There is only one naked light bulb at the center, hanging down from the cracked ceiling, spraying fuzzy yellow light around. Find my mattress, where there is now also a thin, partly torn blanket. Put my bundle of clothes down under my head like a pillow and cover myself with the blanket. But I’m still cold.
There is an icon of the Virgin Mary in the corner and one candle burning underneath it. Each girl in her turn kneels down there and says her prayer under the dark eyes of Big Mamá. She forces me do so too, so I say a prayer for my Mami to come over quickly, save me from these bad people and this horrible place and take me back home. Then I lie down again like all the other girls.
Good night sisters, says Big Mamá. No more talking. She turns off the light and leaves, closing the squeaking door behind her. Then it is quiet, but not for long. Hear whispers in the dark. Some of the girls get together around one mattress. Not me—stay still. Think of you, Adela: what are you doing right now? Hope you took my schoolbag with you. Will need it when I get back to school. Be sure to tell Senora Molina what happened to me so I won’t get tardy marks and be punished when I come back. Would you write down our homework assignments for me? Sure you would. You are my best friend ever. You are my real sister, even if you called me a retard once. Why did you call me that, Adela? And why did you drop my hand and allow me go to that car?

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Little Maria

uw-6aeditedBelow is the second segment of a new short story, Little Maria. While the story is new, it is based on a chapter from my novel, Unidentified Woman, a literary crime about rape, revenge and redemption. I believe it stands alone as is, and will reward you handsomely when you read it.

***

But the sun keeps rising. How come? Doesn’t care much about my darkness and my sadness. Brings a new day with her too, bright and chilly morning when we arrive at a farm, after driving almost the whole day and night. Don’t know where we are.
All I know is, during the night they stopped only once for an hour or two to eat and sleep in the car. Not me—I didn’t eat or sleep at all. The man who grabbed me and held me also touched me in my private part. Nobody ever did that to me before. His fat finger went inside and hurt me so bad. They were laughing about it later but I kept crying. Like I do now, when he gets out of the car and pulls me along with him.
Can’t see what the outside looks like. High walls are surrounding this place, that’s why. Don’t want to see it, anyhow, want to go back home and be with my Mami. Promised her yesterday morning before leaving the house to school that I won’t be late. More than anything else in the world I now want to help her in the kitchen and learn how to sew. But how can I explain to her why I’m so late? How can I tell her what this man did to me in the car? She would never believe me, I know her. She would tell me it was one of my stupid dreams. Better for me to die right now.
We found another girl for you, Big Mamá, the man who drove the car tells a big fat woman who comes out of the farmhouse. She wears baggy pants and sloppy, thick shirt over her mountain belly. Not even a skirt or a dress like the women in my village wear. She’s not damaged, says the ugly man who grabbed me and held me all night when he hands me over to her, but keeps crying all the time like a baby.
I want to go home, I say, trying to control my cry. I want my Mami. These are the first words I say since they took me away from Capirato, my home village. Maybe because she is a woman, and a Big Mamá, she would understand and send me back home. But her arm, the way she holds me, is even stronger and more hurting than how that ugly man held me. And her voice is threatening when she tells me: I’m your Mami now, so stop crying!
Cry even louder when she says say that. She is not my Mami. She is…
Slaps me. So hard she slaps me that I see only dark skies and lose my balance. But not on the ground I fall—falling and falling into deep and empty space. Going to die. Dear God: please let me die.

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Sex War One

To give you a taste of my book, “Sex War One,” I’ve been posting segments of my award-winning short story, “The Monster,” which serves also as the basis for this book.
Sex War One – a dystopian, Sci-fi novel – is available for purchase in all eBooks & iBooks stores & devices. “Fast-moving plot and skillful Sex War One – my dystopian Sci-fi novel – is available for purchase in all eBooks & iBooks stores & devices. “Fast-moving plot and skillful characterization,” said the Science Fiction Studies journal. “This book unifies within it the principles of major Science-Fiction literature,” said This World. Kindle Edition & Smashwords Edition (for iTunes, Kobo, B&N & more.) For further details please check my books page.

Here then is the last segment:

He wanted to protest but quickly realized his present situation did not allow him to do so. He still had his wits about him, which was a good sign. He knew that everything was done under N.R.’s instructions, and that a constant struggle – maybe even hatred and resentment – would forever rule the air between them. The look she directed at him was full of investigative curiosity. She didn’t believe his explanations, he suspected.

He left them shortly thereafter and went up to his room, thinking that at least this stage was successfully accomplished. The Monster no longer existed within the “sane” colony’s walls. She wouldn’t disturb the “proper” way of life here anymore, or threaten in any way the “forward” progression and development of this golden race.

He rushed to take a long, decontaminated shower, as if wishing to shed down the drain each and every remnant of his sojourn outside. He felt he had to get rid of the impressions that the world he had visited left him with. Especially, he had to let go of the bug that may had bitten him and taken possession of him. Over there in the cave’s ground, with that daughter of nature.

Afterwards, following a meal he hastily prepared and ate, he lay down in his bed, listening to his beloved music; music from a different world and era, preformed by the colony’s music-computer. Maybe a man named Beethoven composed it originally; maybe it was based on his Moonlight Sonata. He had read about him once, being deaf and all, and had heard this piece of music once before. He remembered it fondly, and so had chosen to enter the word “moonlight” into his electronic distance-device. He was honoring not only the memory of a bygone world, age and man, but also – still so alive within him – the magnificent moon and moonlight he had witnessed before entering the colony.

He remembered the dream he had dreamed in the cave. He thought about it and about what had preceded it. What he had gone through with Z.Z. He didn’t have a word for it – or was afraid to search for it. He was not completely at ease yet, revisiting in his head all that had happened to him outside during that long, eventful day, and all the places and vistas he had seen.

Finally, a good feeling began to spread throughout his body and mind, unassisted by drugs and pills. He felt stronger; he felt wiser. He needed only courage.

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Sex War One

Sew War One, CoverSex War One – my dystopian Sci-fi novel – is available for purchase in all eBooks & iBooks stores & devices. “Fast-moving plot and skillful characterization,” said the Science Fiction Studies journal. “This book unifies within it the principles of major Science-Fiction literature,” said This World. Kindle Edition & Smashwords Edition (for iTunes, Kobo, B&N & more.) For further details please check my books page.

To give you a taste of the book, I’ve been posting segments of my award-winning short story, “The Monster,” which serves also as the basis for the book. Here then is the twenty-sixth segment:

D.L. keeps running and running. Familiar corridors become foreign catacombs. He feels as if he is running within them looking for an escape but cannot find any. There are no doors. The moving tracks are not moving. The colony-citizens look at him from their cages. They look at him very curiously, laughing at him. They are all dressed – he is the only one naked. Something strange has happened to him, he is sure of that. Still, he keeps on running, refusing to believe that he is doomed. He meets a small child suddenly and stops running. She is sitting on the corridor’s floor playing with a computer toy. He wants to ask her something but the girl gives him a remote, apathetic look. She looks up at someone else. So does he, seeing N.R. now. She stops beside them, holding a strange, huge radiation-gun in her hands, blocking his way. She laughs wildly, yet soundlessly, threatening to devour him. From her mouth she is spitting black smoke. He uses it as cover and manages to escape into a side door he finds suddenly in the corridor. But S.O. is not there in her room. She has disappeared. He can only see all of the colony men now. They are gathered in the backyard, and are tied to the swimming pool with their heads in the blue water. He finds it hard to believe that the water is blue, and that they are all dead. But blood keeps pouring from their heads, painting the pool red now. Or maybe these are just the faraway red mountains reflecting in the water. It doesn’t matter anymore, as he charges to the fence surrounding Z.Z.’s shack. He doesn’t want to be dead like them, not yet. He breaks in and enters the shack. But she is not there, Z.Z. S.O. is there instead, naked as he is. From between her white thighs comes a dark, silky animal, which she holds in both hands. That animal keeps sliding out, lashing out a threatening, long thin tongue at him. He is flashed suddenly by strong searchlights. He turns his head.

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Filed under Destopian, Literary, Sci-fi

Sex War One

Sew War One, CoverSex War One – my dystopian Sci-fi novel – is available for purchase in all eBooks & iBooks stores & devices. “Fast-moving plot and skillful characterization,” said the Science Fiction Studies journal. “This book unifies within it the principles of major Science-Fiction literature,” said This World. Kindle Edition & Smashwords Edition (for iTunes, Kobo, B&N & more.) For further details please check my books page.

To give you a taste of the book, I’ve been posting segments of my award-winning short story, “The Monster,” which serves also as the basis for the book. Here then is the twenty-fifth segment:

His knees were buckling underneath him. He felt it coming, even before he fell down to the ground. He couldn’t control himself; neither could he control her. He was tired and weak; she was strong and energetic. And that was why he stayed with her: She made him feel strong again. So he touched her naked body, so soft and so warm. And she held him in her arms, preventing him from going away. Nature ruled and directed her actions. Between the two of them now, she was the leader, and he was the follower. He got naked as well. For the first time in his life his actions were not controlled by his brain anymore, but by his pure impulses and emotions.

He heard her cry again when he penetrated. The joy of the flesh mixed so perfectly with the joy of the soul and became one. And so did they.

He felt safe in this dark cave. He felt protected. He remembered that the girls in the colony lost their virginity in a very different way, and at a much earlier age, with special scalpels at the medical station in the health laboratory. Doing it that way was meant to prevent stronger attachments later on between the sexes. Such powerful desire, it was suspected, could lead to personal preference and individual, ever lasting attachment, which was against the colony-rules. After all, they were meant to be equal and non-individual.

He stayed a long time inside Z.Z. Longer than he had ever stayed inside any of the women in the colony. He felt the warmth coming from her, and remembered the coldness that always came from the women-citizens. He remembered, as well, that they never screamed or cried; they always moaned, talked or laughed, or just stayed mute.

And thus, in the deepest of all places, he felt for the first time a strong desire to die. Dark energy, which nonetheless was surrounded by a halo of bright light, engulfed him and forced him to close his eyes. He felt her wet eyes, full of tears, resting now on his bare chest. He surrendered completely then to her wish, and yes, to his own wish as well. He lay quiet and calm with her on the ground of the cave. They were united, at last, with each other and with nature.

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