There were people in the crowd who knew exactly who Sara was.
And I wouldn't be exaggerating if I said their mouths almost hit the ground.
Shocked, whispering to each other: Who is this person? Was she always like this? If so, why didn't we notice sooner?
No… something happened. Something changed her.
What did Blasphemy do to her?
To understand that, we have to go back—to the period of torture.
In the first two months, her routine was simple.
She ate something in the morning, again at lunch, then got beaten for a while.... They would stop later
Dinner starts,
she'd eat again, and then the lights went off.
Until she completely fell asleep.
But sleep wasn't peaceful. Every night, there was this view in front of her.
Not far, not near — just the right distance to torment her.
Five men, maybe more; she never bothered to count.
They were moving their hands up and down.
You know what I mean — I don't need to clarify where.
During the first month, Sara couldn't sleep because of them.
She was terrified. What if I fall asleep, and they find me vulnerable? What if they do the unthinkable?
She stayed awake, exhausted, her mind screaming for rest.
She was so tired, but she couldn't close her eyes. The thought kept haunting her —
Wouldn't it be better if they did it while I was asleep? At least then I wouldn't feel anything. Maybe I'd wake up after it's done… or in the middle of it. At least that way, it wouldn't last as long.
Then, like a sudden crash inside her head, another thought appeared.
For months they've hit me, but I never felt anything while they did it. Only after they left — then I'd feel the pain. So much pain, but somehow I could shake it off.
She realized she didn't feel pain in the moment — only later.
Maybe I'd feel nothing even if they decided to jump on me. What can I really do if they did? Whether I'm awake or asleep, I can't stop them.
In the second month, she slept hesitantly.
By the third and fourth, she slept like a baby.
Around this time,
There were alot of though surrounding her like if she deserved to be treated like that, or maybe she should be used as dumbster, and don't act like you don't understand what she referring to..
— guilt, sadness, depression, redemption, hope. were keeping her company everyday,
But among them, one thought grew bigger every second: rebellion.
She started thinking — people do much worse.
Some people, if you saw them skinned alive, you wouldn't shed a tear.
No, you'd feel relieved. Maybe even laugh.
The only thing that stops you is the respect everyone still has for death.
By the fifth month, new thoughts took over her existence — pain, and why we feel it.
Why do we feel the same pain every time we get hit in the same spot? Why does it get worse instead of easier? Is it because we can't get used to it — or is it just in our minds?
She wondered, When I cried before getting hit, was that real pain or just fear? Is it all in my head?
Then came the last month — the one that changed everything.
She saw something. The last switch that flipped her entirely.
A light flickered, and in that moment she saw the men — the ones who moved their hands up and down for nearly six months.
But their genitals weren't even out.
They were holding something that looked like a pipe, rubbing it in the darkness.
For six months.
Then why was I afraid of them? she thought.
The next morning, she refused to eat anything they gave her.
Instead, she dumped the food beneath the pillow she slept on.
When the time for hitting came, she felt something new — she could feel it.
The punches actually hurt.
The first seven were hell, but the ones that followed were light, almost weak.
Did they put something in my food to make me numb? she thought.
So Blasphemy didn't hurt anyone before… he just made us think that...
Dinner came. She didn't eat, of course.
Later that night, she pretended to be a sleep.
She heard footsteps — slow, heavy, coming closer.
Her heart was pounding like crazy.
Someone turned her body. She had been lying on her side; now she was on her back.
She fought the urge to open her eyes, even though fear was clawing inside her.
Then — a click.
Something was being placed on her face.
And then… silence.
After a while, she opened her eyes.
In the broken mirror on the wall, she saw herself.
"Makeup," she whispered.
That's why she always looked worse than the day before.
For six months, Blasphemy didn't hurt anyone — he only made it look like he did.
Everything was part of a profile to keep.
Pretending was enough.
And from that day on,
Sara decided who she would be.
So what the judge seeing now, isn't a broken women, as he thought
But a ticking bomb that exploded long ago so why iam afraid....will it explode again.