Helpless

I have to be the one to get the pictures out of my head. I have to write them down and remember them as they are. I have to get them down and away from me. So I write:

I remember the cages. He took me there to show me how much worse life could get. I needed the reminder. I remember seeing her in the crate, bent over in a crouch, head down with her hair in front of her face. I remember her screams. “Help me!” over and over and over. She kept lifting her head and banging it up against the top of the crate, furiously trying to escape or stand up or do something. She was naked and dirty and screaming, and I couldn’t do anything to help her.

It was like seeing her through water.

I never shake that feeling of helplessness, not really. It might pretend to disappear for a while, but it’s always there. Hidden. Waiting for its prey.

― 007/Judas