The Prisoner

The young woman sat with her curly brown hair touching the soft powder-white sands of Bakers Beach, Tasmania, gazing at the endless expanse of turquoise blue sea, the colour consistent with her own eyes.

Sitting with her legs stretched out before her, she could distinctly see the scars left behind, repeatedly, by an all-too-familiar, men’s brown leather belt. Only because she was certain that at this time in the morning there wouldn’t be another soul in sight here, had she dared to wear her swimsuit.

She often wondered just how beautiful she would have looked, with her tall and lean frame, if it wasn’t for those hideous marks all over her body.

She went by Amy Rover now, having changed her name over three years ago, as an attempt to leave her abominable past behind. But it was only now that she had started to realize that she was a prisoner of her own past, and would never, ever, escape it.

– Srishti Singh

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