Author Aija Monique Butler, was born in San Diego California, in 1979. She currently resides in the San Francisco Bay area where she is a student of Medicine pursing a graduate degree in Healthcare Management. She is an Advocate and Philanthropist for non-profit program development in the areas of Youth and Social Service Development. She is a grant writer and holds an extensive background in Psychology and has a host of medical certifications. Aija has a love for the arts and is a writer of poetry both fiction and non-fiction novels and memoirs.

Aija Butler is the Author of the Fiction Mystery Suspense Drama, My Nemesis a book series, Non-Fiction Memoirs, “Life Honestly After, The Undeniable Truth,” and “The Rebirth of My Soul,” an intimidate look at her walk with illness, sharing her journey through recovery and independence. She is also the Poet/Songstress of the Poetic Experience, My Butterfly Effect, and Non-Fiction Poetic Memoirs, In the Mourning.

Latest works involve freelance article writing,and an album of musical and poetic memoirs. Aija also looks to put together her first script and plans to release three new books in the year 2012. Look out for this creative genious she is taking on the world of creative arts by storm.

Saturday, November 27, 2010

Under Lock and Key!

I can still feel the snap of my arm being jerked outward in my attempt to flee his wrath. Id raise my right arm to shield myself from the blow. Catching my arm in mid air he ensured me that everything was ok. He wasn't angry.

I came from under a my ball of defense and relaxed my strained muscles only to catch the full blow of his furry. My head jerked back and hit the stone fireplace. The shock of the beating numbed the pain. It wasn't until he said he was sorry that my bones began to ache.
During the hours we had company in my dorm apartment he would make a point to show how obedient I was.

To make a point of ownership he would dare others to look at me. If he caught site of such betrayal and possible lust after what he proclaimed to own. He would beat the man senseless, then pull a knife to my throat. The same question was always asked. “Do you think I should kill him?” I would suggest that he be exiled from the group, a small act of courage to protect him from this demons wrath. God knows my time was near. I too, had plans of making an escape.

He didn't take so kindly of my suggestion. He figured I was looking to save my undercover lover. He gave him a small window to either jump from or be thrown out of. He jumped. I lived on the second floor, high enough to break a few bones if someone was literally trying to kill you. To jump was his best bet.

Unfortunately. my hour of terror had just begun. He continued his speech to his fellow constituents that cringed with fear but dare not shut their eyes to visual presentations. As their eyes watered afraid to blink the tears threatened to cause attention to possible weakness. As he trailed the knife from under my eye down the outline of my face the men took the chance to wipe their faces and adjust their game faces.

I was stiff as a board and late answering his repeated question. "Are you afraid of me?" I said no. The answer he so loved to hear. If I were scared I wouldn't give him the satisfaction in knowing. I fought back tears as he forced the point of the knife into my cheek.

"Good!" He replied. Because to kill you would then be justified.

I never understood how killing someone would unless in self defense, my plan, but I believe that his meaning to justification was in reference to his conscience.

My eyes lowered and shifted view to his followers. For the life of me I couldn't understand why none of them had taken the opportunity to win back their freedom. Id given plenty of time and opportunity. Motive floated in the air like a cloud of smoke from an un contained fire. Desire caused sweat to bead upon their brows and wet their palms.

“Cowards I screamed,” from my delirious mind. My arms and legs were kicking and flinging as hard and fast as they could in my conscience. I burned them with my stares. Some looked away. Others dare not show signs of emotion or disagreement to his performance, for fear they too would be asked to leave. Departure without being formally excused as a group could be fatal. If I had the chance I pull the gun from the hip of one of these sensitive assholes and kill him myself.

Boys claiming to be men holstering guns they are afraid to use, but jump up and down in an attempt to prove themselves to yet another man. A man with whom is just as afraid as they are. I was under his wrath, under lock and key.

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