An Illustrated Story: Abused War Captive

[cisco47]

Each man took his turn, a grotesque parody of intimacy. Some were quick, grunting like animals, driven only by base release. Others lingered, savoring her flinches and choked cries, twisting her limbs into degrading positions, whispering filth in languages she didn't understand but whose meaning was brutally clear. The hut floor was slick with sweat, blood, and semen. The air thickened with the stench of violence and male musk. Camryn retreated deep inside herself, a place beyond thought, beyond feeling. She became a vessel, emptied of everything but the raw mechanics of violation and the distant, fading memory of sunlight on water.

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[cisco47]

[cisco47]

When the last soldier finished, roughly shoving her aside, the silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Camryn hung limply from the ceiling, trembling uncontrollably, her body a map of pain – the lacerations from the whip burning, the deep internal ache of multiple rapes a constant throb. Her wrists and ankles were raw and swollen from the shackles. The soldiers stood around her, breathing heavily, adjusting their uniforms. The cruel excitement had drained from their faces, replaced by a dull, spent indifference. One kicked her bare thigh, not hard, but enough to make her flinch. "We have to finish our work" he grunted in broken English. "General wants to see trash."

[cisco47]

[cisco47]

to be continued...

[cisco47]

They dragged her out of the hut, back into the harsh sunlight. She stumbled, her legs unable to support her, her nakedness exposed again to the empty village square. The soldiers didn't bother covering her. They hauled her towards the largest hut, once Brother Thomas's quarters, now commandeered by their leader. Inside, the air was cooler, smelling of stale tobacco and damp earth. The General sat behind a rough wooden table, studying a map. He was older than his men, his face lined and hard, his eyes cold and assessing as they flicked over Camryn’s broken form. He didn't react to her nudity or her wounds; they were irrelevant details. He spoke a few curt words in their guttural language. The soldier holding Camryn’s arm shoved her forward.

[cisco47]

"American?" the General asked in heavily accented English, his gaze flat. Camryn tried to speak, but only a raw croak escaped her bruised throat, “Australian”. She managed a shaky nod. He grunted, tapping the map. "You stay. Serve." He gestured dismissively towards her. "Comfort woman." The words weren't a sentence; they were a death knell for her old life. Two soldiers grabbed her arms again, dragging her away. There was no discussion, no appeal. Her fate was sealed with terrifying simplicity.

[cisco47]

to be continued...