The Unnamed

Long back I had known this girl. Decked up in a westernized outfit, she was indeed very excited to attend her friend's graduation party. She truly graced her looks with dark eyelashes, smoky eyes and red lips. As she stepped out of the house, she could sense the unknown stares tracing her dents. 

In the midst of the sensational eve something strange happened. She came running. Her heels broke as she tumbled. The smudged kohl beneath her eyes and the nude lips...no...it isn't she, or, is it? 

A week later I saw this girl again. "Hush!" whispered the neighbours, "She got a makeover!" The long hair cut really short. Dressed in long pants and sleeved shirt, I thought now her looks won't appeal to anyone's lust. Alas! I was wrong. As I stood frozen at the horror, an eight-year-old walked up to me and said, "This is not only a story of hers. It's mine too. " I couldn't really decipher it for the first few seconds. And then as she stretched out her arm, the scars left me in tears. 

So, what could have possibly gone wrong with - her friend's father, her teacher, her uncle. And it doesn't end here. What else could be left? Yeah, there is, something gruesome which lurches my stomach. 'HER' cries which are benumbed in the very womb itself.

You know where lies the fault. It lies in her femininity - in her feminine affection which you beasts mistake for alluring your inhuman instincts. Lust is not something she craves for. It is love and respect that she desires.