Without Finger

I want to write once more tonight , like a prisoner before his death. Replace the fingers I have long removed. Picking up scattered memories, picking them up, stringing them up, making them a neglected story.

I'll tell you about a girl who cuts her fingers. A vengeful little lady who has thrown a thousand words at the heart of my conscience. Penetrating the aorta of my feelings flow. Where he gave me meaning, after stabbing me with the question!., " How can life be so cruel? "

At one point you will never know. The little girl had sent me a black letter in blood.

" Hay my brother, I sent you a news letter. Today I am very happy. You know what causes it? Read it, I'll tell you. After school, I was confronted by two young men. Yes, they are alone. At first they were smiling looking at my whole body, I have not thought anything. But suddenly, they turned so violent like an animal. Their eyes are bright red. I smell strong alcohol from their mouths. My clothes were stripped, I was dragged down to a hidden bush. I can not fight. Their bodies are too big. My head was slapped by one, the other choked my neck. When I'm helpless, somehow, like something happens to my body. All felt heavy, and sore. I had time to think about the mind, am I being raped? Rape as reported in newspapers every morning. Sick. Is this ill? My body was bruised. And all I saw was they were bare-chested.

But after a while, they left. I was left naked naked. In such a savage state !!! "

The letter runs out on the first paper. So naïve letter that he wrote. I searched for where the little girl's happiness was, as she had said earlier. There was only the pain I had read.

" And do you know my brother, The thing that tetiba make me so happy, is when I try to crawl out of the humiliation. I saw a girl smaller than me, just past the path that I passed earlier. That's when all the pain, the bruises, and the embarrassments change happy and relieved. Luckily I passed the path first, until my little sister did not feel what I felt. "

The story in the letter stops unmarked. No address, no date, and no name. The next day came to me more paper. Dread is clinging to the written word. I never knew who wrote it. In fact, I never met anyone who delivered it, I know, the letters were lying on my doorstep, in the morning.

" Hay, my brother. I want to tell you some more. I hope you have not slept on your soft mattress. Today I got a happy surprise. My mom invited me to quit school. I asked for it. Yaa, how else is my brother. I am ashamed, how could I come out with this humiliation, carry this filthy body. The gazes out there are more painful than the gaze of the young men who polluted me. Like I was the criminal. And another word that made my heart feel bloody, is news of the two young men caught, only they were sentenced to several years in prison. Is that fair, my brother? Are I bringing this pain to death? Up to my grave? "

Increasingly, the letters are getting more and more intact in my life. I'm not calm. How should I help her suffering? I do not know the girl. Do not know where he is. Do not understand where to go. I can only read pain after suffering. Until an unusual day. The letter came in an awkward state. In the morning when I wake open my eyes. The words are written on the ceiling of the room.

" Hay, I'll tell you one last thing. Today I got a plea !! And that's what makes my last belief disappear. Dozens of women gather at one point. They are ringing alarm bells, as the demands that our people should be saved. They create noise, whether for whose benefit. They gathered to demand discrimination against women, but their clothes revealed all body shapes. They demanded that they stop violence against women, with billboards advertising that promotes liquor, but they do not mind. They demanded the honor of women, while the posters displaying curves and the beauty of seductive women along the way, they let just scattered.

" My brother, I'm confused. Every time I write a word, it's also like my heart never penetrates the soul of the other. The pain in here feels more and more pain, each of my fingers writing a sentence. Like what I want, never delivered. More days, I see not only me who become victims. I'm frustrated, my brother. Tomorrow there will be no more letters. As you read this, I have cut my fingers. I'm tired of writing. "

hand

The letter stopped. Absolutely stopped, no more. only the writing on the ceiling of my room was left behind. With that line I knew so well. Like my handwriting 20 years ago, when I was so young.

Jogjakarta, May 30, 2016 // 23:32 PM