I absolutely love The Lovely Bones. I think it is a masterful work of art if there ever was one. The only book I love more is Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, if only because I'm such a huge fan of Nabokov's beautifully alliterative writing style and because everything about that story resonates with my soul.
That being said, I warn you that the following drabble contains very disturbing themes, among these: the rape and murder of a child.
Please tread carefully.
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"Why don't you get up?" Mr. Harvey said as he rolled to the side and then crouched over me.
His voice was gentle, encouraging, a lover's voice on a late morning. A suggestion, not a command.
I thought, as I lay in the earth, that I would not be able to get up. I felt completely enmeshed in the ground, as if I were simply another patch of dirt to be treaded and shat upon.
When I would not - was it only that, only that I would not follow his suggestion? - he leaned to the side and felt, over his head, across the ledge where his razor and shaving cream sat. He brought back a knife. Unsheathed, it smiled at me, curving up in a grin.
He took the hat from my mouth.
"Tell me you love me," he said.
Gently, I did.
He raised the knife above me vertically, as if to plunge it straight into my chest, and, miracle of miracles, I thought fast. Regaining the ability to move, my hand shot up and gripped the blade just as it began it's downward journey towards my bare flesh. I felt ten times faster than normal as I pressed my fingers against the thing that could have killed me had I let it. He grunted angrily and smacked me back down to the ground.
"You aren't getting away, Susie," Mr. Harvey growled as he regained his composure.
He went to stab me again, but, before he could even properly position the blade, I kicked him as hard as I could in his side, causing him to double over long enough for me to make my escape. I jumped up and, giving him another sharp kick in the face for what he'd done, I pulled my panties back up, scurried up the ladder, and ran barefoot and half-naked through the cornfield.
It wasn't easy to do; I'd tripped and fallen trying to navigate through the cornfield with winter boots on. I cut the soft bottoms of my feet against the jagged ends of rocks as I sped through the broken stalks like a madwoman, my pupils having completely overtaken the ice-blue irises of my eyes.
It wasn't long before I heard Mr. Harvey chasing after me, his heavy, angry breathing and pounding footfalls a dead giveaway. I knew he was close behind me, but, that he was old, overweight, and exhausted from having raped me just moments ago. I felt confident that I could outrun him, but, I wouldn't let myself slow down even with this knowledge.
I screamed out as loudly and shrilly as I could manage. I could feel the overwhelming sense of danger, of his heated hatred for me and all that I was, and I screamed all the louder.
"Help me! Rape! A rapist is chasing me! Help!" I belted out over and over again, my voice carrying a lot farther than I'd expected it would. Lights came on in the distance. It was dark, but, I knew if I kept running and didn't trip, I'd be in my father's arms in no time. I thought of his beautiful face, his strong, broad chest, his silly remarks to my much more serious mother, and felt a warmth envelop my body and push out the blistering cold.
It was in this exact moment that my foot caught against a slightly raised stalk and I fell flat on my face.
My adrenaline gone, I struggled to get back on my feet. But, before I could even get on my knees, Mr. Harvey's weight fell hard on my back, knocking my breath out of my chest.
"You little bitch," he husked in my ear as he wrapped his hands around my throat. "You're going to die. You'd better get used to it."
Hot tears streamed down my face as his grip on my neck tightened and I felt my world turning black. He flipped me on my back. I saw the knife, somehow even more menacing in the blatant moonlight, and as much as I struggled, I knew I'd blown my chance of escape. My life was over. I choked and pushed and forced garbled screams from my constricted throat. I kneed him weakly, aiming for his groin, never quite hitting my mark, hating him more than anything in the world.
I felt faint, asphyxiated. My eyes fought to stay open, my lips open yet noiseless. My limbs stopped fidgeting and fighting back. I entered a state of forced, neuralgic calm. I could feel myself leaving my body, as much as I could feel myself being dragged back, by the neck, to the wretched hole from whence I came.
My soul was restless though still hesitant. I guess I still thought I'd live at that point. What a an overly optimistic fool I was. Though it was hopeless, I wasn't ready to give up the fight, and I wondered why Mr. Harvey hadn't made absolutely certain I was unconscious before pulling my teenage carcass back to his homey little underground 'clubhouse' - wasn't that what he'd called it? Before everything had turned so ugly? - before I realized that nobody was near enough to hear me, no matter how loud I screamed. I think it was then that I finally came to accept my imminent death.
But, I had to know something before I left this Earth. So, when Mr. Harvey had finally taken me back to the hole and removed his hand from my throat, after I'd coughed and sputtered and cleared my throat, just as he was about to send me straight into oblivion with his trusty knife, I said, tearfully confident, clear, "Wait!"
He stopped the blade mid-thrust and stared at me. He had a look of intangible fury in his eyes, and I knew that I'd never witness that look of inescapable and hateful lust ever again. I drew a breath. I knew he'd only listen for a moment. So, I spoke.
"Before you kill me, Mr. Harvey, could you tell me one thing?"
He made a face of dubious annoyance. "What?"
I met his eyes fiercely. "Don't you ever want anyone to love you?"
His breath hitched in a dangerously human fashion, pulling away his monster mask, and for a moment, just the tiniest sliver of a millisecond, I saw the unloved, unseen boy he used to be. It was that vision of morbid beauty, that sweet secretion of truth, that made the indescribable pain of being stabbed and cut into sectioned pieces like a juicy steak just the slightest bit more bearable.
Because I knew, in that gorgeously gorging moment, that I had been loved by many, and that Mr. Harvey had been loved by none.
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