
Why the fuck weren’t you there an hour ago?
Just one.
Sixty goddamn minutes.
-
An hour ago, I still looked like a person.
Sort of.
As much as a girl can, wearing innocence like borrowed clothes—
threadbare, stained,
stitched together by the hands of the man Mom married,
who barged in once she was gone
and took everything I was,
until there was nothing left of my body I could call mine.
-
You want poetry?
Here it is:
my childhood was redressed in silence
and the smell of someone else’s skin.
-
Then there was him.
Camera man.
Promises like teeth—rotted, obvious.
You could’ve seen it.
You should’ve.
But you didn’t.
(Did you?)
-
Maybe you passed me on the curb.
Saw me get into the van.
Thought: “Poor thing. Must be a model gig.”
Or maybe, no.
You didn’t think at all.
-
But if you’d stopped—just once—
if you’d said don’t,
thrown me a goddamn twenty,
and said fuck the film, just go, girl—go anywhere but with him—
offered anything but indifference—
you could’ve spared me the crawl.
The blood.
The gap between who I was an hour ago
and what’s left breathing now.
-
But no.
-
Now you show up.
On your way back from wherever.
You see me—finally—and stop the car.
Concern in your eyes.
Urgency in your bloody hands.
You lift me from the ditch,
where I crawled out of the woods,
skirt gone, skin torn,
bleeding from too many places.
But alive.
Technically.
-
You pick me up.
Like I’m precious. Like you matter.
You don’t mind the blood I leave on your leather—
your hero’s badge for tomorrow.
-
Now you’ll rush me to the hospital.
You’ll leave after the report’s filed.
They call my guardian.
Guess who picks up.
-
Yeah.
-
He’ll thank you.
Smile at you.
Tell you he was worried sick.
Then take me home.
And he won’t wait for the stitches to settle
before crawling back into my room.
-
So no.
Don’t ask why I’m quiet.
Don’t ask why I won’t cry.
And don’t expect a fucking thank you, saviour.
Blame it on shock. Concussion. Whatever.
(Just ignore the fire in my swollen eye.)
Just—
don’t go sniffing for a redemption arc
in the back seat of your righteous fucking mercy.
-
You were one hour too late.
And that’s all it takes.
To kill a life.
To bury a girl.
And leave the rest crawling.
.
About the Creator
Iris Obscura
Do I come across as crass?
Do you find me base?
Am I an intellectual?
Or an effed-up idiot savant spewing nonsense, like... *beep*
Is this even funny?
I suppose not. But, then again, why not?
Read on...
Also:
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Eye opening
Niche topic & fresh perspectives
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions




Comments (6)
How to spot the signs? How to respond appropriately & in a timely manner? Questions that haunt me with every encounter. Challenges beyond my ken that keep my heart breaking & longing for healing I don't know how to supply other than by being available & knowing how to access transportation, medical help &/or shelter. So much hurt on a wholistically fractured level.
This is very well written, but you should have put a content label on this because things like this happen to real people. Real people who then read your work.
Haunting and stunning, as always, Iris. "he won’t wait for the stitches to settle before crawling back into my room" will linger with me for quite some time
Omgggg, this was so devastating! I'm so glad this didn't happen to you. But my heart breaks for whoever this happened to 😭😭😭😭😭
Powerful and unsettling, and all too real. Your words always hit hard. Great work 🙏🏻
This didn’t happen to me. Not directly. Years ago, I read a news blip—barely a paragraph. No name. No photo. Just: “Girl found near roadside. Injuries consistent with assault. Returned to legal guardian.” That last part hit like a fist to the teeth. Returned. To what? I wrote one line in a battered notebook that night: "What if she didn’t want to be saved?" I found that notebook today. And for the first time in years, I felt strong enough—as a poet—to give her a voice. This is for her. Wherever she is. Whatever was left of her after that hour.