Evil Tangles

Freezing myths chilled her when recalled by a sound, a smell, a sign. She knew the past would haunt her always but she didn’t know quite which pasts were real, embellished, imagined; the drugs and the drink and time had polluted them, never ridding her of them as she had for years intended. They remained stained and indelible, smearing her present with the blood of innocence spilt by rough hands and vulgar breaths; guilt infused by tricks and taunts and lies and threats. The tendrils of fear still drove deep and still strangled her as the fear of the judgement of others if the truth were known. She could not see that she was pure victim and not the impure accomplice he had convinced her of being. Evil is stark when viewed from outside, insipid in its throttling woven grasp for the ensnared, but evil all the same.