A Symphony of One Voice (standard:drama, 766 words)
Author: KShaw	Added: Apr 25 2005	Views/Reads: 3664/0	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The congregation mourn the death of a young girl, and have among them her killer.

A Symphony of One Voice 

“That's him,” she said, pointing to a man wearing a ‘Kash Rosh' suit,
sitting three rows back in the congregation. “You wouldn't think it to 
look at him, would you,” she continued, comforted by an arm around her 
shoulder. “I know I was a wayward kid, seldom coming home when I said I 
would, using drugs, stealing, and getting pregnant at thirteen. My baby 
would have been five this April.” 

The congregation stood as the organ sounded the first notes of  ‘Thyne
Be The Glory', while a woman, her head bathed in black silk, cries 
woefully. Her sobs drowning the voices mumbling the words to the hymn, 
while the music filled the rafters of the old church. 

Two school girls, both wearing school uniform,  clutched hankies to
their eyes, and held onto each other for comfort. 

“I never thought it would happen to me,” the young observer confided,
“in fact one of my friends, Melanie...” she hesitates, then raises her 
arm, “...that's her there; the one in St Aiden's uniform standing with 
our friend, Jill, she told me he'd touched her too, brushing her breast 
when seeing a hair clinging to her cardigan. I don't understand why she 
hasn't said something to the police about it. Sergeant Crawford, that 
big chap standing in the back of the church, the one carrying his hat 
in his hands, told my mother I'd been raped, but as yet DNA tests 
haven't shown anything positive." 

She shivered when she said the word. The arm tightened on her shoulders
and she felt calm again, and warm. 

“He attacked me from the back, pushing me sideways into the shrubbery,
threatening to kill me if I screamed out. I was screaming but somehow I 
couldn't make the screams come up my throat and force their passed his 
hand covering my mouth. I struggled, but he slapped me hard, my ear 
drum exploded, and I could feel blood running down the side of my face. 
That was when I saw him, the headlights of a passing car's illuminated 
the bushes, and it was him, my mum's ex boyfriend. Look at him, 
standing there acting remorseful. Not even. I managed one last gasp 
heave and he toppled off me. I couldn't get enough air and my screams 
were choked with blood. He dragged me deeper into the wooded area and 
cracked my head against a tree trunk. When I came to he was pushing his 
penis into me. I raised my knee into his groin and he cried out in 
pain. That's when he tore off my pantyhose and put it around my neck. I 
remember crying for my mother, wanting to be sorry for all the times I 
didn't listen, and being nice to men much older than myself. I managed 
to get one shoe off while he was strangling me, I slammed the heel into 
the side of his head. I saw him draw his fist back but don't remember 
anything after that, not till I woke up with you standing by my side. I 
knew I was safe then.” 

The girl watched as mourners assembled around the brass handled coffin.
A bed of red and pink roses covering the top. She thought they looked 
pretty. 

The woman wearing the silk head-square, grief stricken, sobbed, "My
baby, my baby." 

Interesting, the young observer thought, considering her mother had not
looked her in the eye, or spoken to her since she had called her new 
boyfriend a pervert. 

In her peripheral vision, someone with whom she felt comfortable said
nothing while holding her. 

Her mother approached the coffin, resting her hands on the lid, and
sobbed forgiveness. 

"Forgiveness,” the young girl said aloud in response to her mother's
wailing, but going unheard. "You have no idea how many times he came on 
to me, the lecher. How many times, while you worked, that he made 
excuses to touch me, commenting on my clothes, suggesting I wear 
shorter skirts. You were always too busy working in the convenience 
store. I wanted you to love me but when you came home you only had time 
for him.” 

Relatives and friends gathered around the open grave, some commented on
the girl's beauty, some her naiveté, and some on how much she would be 
missed. 

"Missed?" the girl pondered, "and as for naiveté,” she mumbled in
disgust, "well, that was not me." 

After a long moment, the 'Presence' asked, "Ready to go, you're not
needed here anymore." 

The young girl turned from the scene,  "Yes, I'm ready. I was never
needed here anyway." 


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