The Battered Wife
Written on August 21, 2004
Her face was bruised, her lip swollen. Her arm hung weakly in a sling, broken as she raised it in a vain effort to deflect the blows that seemed to never stop coming. Why does he hate me so much? she kept asking herself. What did I do to cause this?
Her husband stood nearby, glaring at her as she was led away: a fierce, hulking, wild-eyed figure, his dark hair and full beard barely concealing a menacing sneer. She trembled at the sight of him. Her sobs had already become uncontrollable cries, the pain in her arm barely muted by the drugs the shelter had provided.
She had tried to escape, tried to have the law intervene and do something — anything — about her husband. Help me, she begged. Please.
The judge rendered his decision: “You must hold hands and work out your differences.” The gavel slammed down on her life, condemning her to a hell she knew she could not survive.
As she was led out of the courtroom, the husband began to laugh, cracked his knuckles, and followed her.
Disgusted? Replace the woman with the United States, the husband with Islamic terrorism, and the judge with liberals and the United Nations.
Are you still disgusted?
You should be.
Filed in: Politics.