An Automatic Response

Her mind is not racist

Consciously it knows that every man is equal to the next

It sees past the colour of a man's skin

And believes in the being beneath.

But her body. 

Her body betrays her. 

The hand recoils from the dark fingertips of the man paying for his drink. 

The skin prickles uncomfortably as the ebony stranger brushes against it on the crowded bus. 

An automatic response, fear washes over her when she sees her new colleague approach

With a warm smile, welcoming her to the team with a shadowy outstretched palm. 

She takes it in her own ashen grasp and instantly she's back there.

Unwelcome eyes dart across her body, greedily taking in every visible inch.

The others are upstairs.

Nobody will know.

She is pushed from her feet.

Forced backwards into her prison. 

Confused, she moves as if to rise, 

But a determined forearm falls heavily across her chest.

An uninvited weight climbs onto her

It gropes wildly, tearing at her dignity for the stolen reward inside.

She thrashes and kicks in an attempt to break free

But her time is not served.

Her sadistic gaoler maintains the attack

Clawing roughly at her raw, bruised flesh

It uses her form to satisfy its own depravity

It won't stop until it is gratified.

Her screams for help disappear unheard into the walls

She pleads desperately with her captor

With wrists held tightly above her head

There is no escape.

"Why are you still struggling?"

It asks through clenched teeth as it thrusts fresh shame into her now languishing body.

She can stay no longer.

Her consciousness abandons her.

She is left with nothing but a pit of nausea.

An impossible knot in her stomach. 

And an unrelenting dread that one day she might feel the warden's touch again.