IT WAS NEVER HER FAULT

Sitting, staring through the window,

Lost in thought,

Voices echo in the background:

Why did she go out at that time?
Why did she take that route?
Why didn’t she go with someone?
Why didn’t she wear jeans?
Why wasn’t her gown longer?
Who knows if she didn’t want it?
Are you sure she’s telling the truth?
You can’t trust girls nowadays.

Her mother’s tears echo in her head:
Why did this happen to you?
Who did this to you?

Her father paces the room,
Phone pressed tight to his ear,
Voice breaking between calls.

But the system always disappoints.
People gather, not to help,
But to listen,
To feed on the story,
To dress judgment as concern

I thought she was a good girl.”
“After all that forming…”

Her thoughts whisper:
Maybe they’re right.
What if I didn’t go out?
What if I had stayed at home?
What if I had waited for someone to escort me?

So many what-ifs,
Stacking like walls around her.

Who will tell her
That it wasn’t her fault?
Who will tell her
That monsters will always be monsters?
Who will tell her
That she’s going to be okay?

“It was never your fault,”
I whispered—
My room dim,
Phone light cold against my face,

Her picture frozen on the screen.
Beneath it, the headline:

“ Girl who was raped commits suicide.”

And suddenly,
Silence 

© Ebube