He could do nothing, as he saw them defiling her, poisoning her with their crude words and filthy touches. He remember how they came, staring at him with hatred and sadistic glee as they hit him, beat him until he no longer could feel. That's when they saw her, and his entire body was filled with dread. Seeing her, screaming for his aid, writhing, trying all her hardest to get free to no avail.
He felt cold, numb over all his body, and his eyes felt warm, stinging with something he did not wish to proceed. Clenching his hands, he closed his eyes. Closing, praying, hoping like a silly child that it would be a dream. That he would wake up with Cecilia by his side, her voice hoarse from awakening, and whisper sweetly; “Good morning, dear heart.”.
Yet the screams, and sobbing overcame his small piece of anticipation of belief, that it was not real. It felt hours, days even decades before the screaming stopped, before all that was heard was three men, panting harshly, one chuckling, while the two caught their breath. As his eyes opened, he stared into the empty shell of his wife's eyes. Wide open, her mouth agape, and nothing was left. Shutting his eyes tightly, he tried to forget, replace the image of his wife with another, a better one, a purer one.
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