I don't know what made me appealing to you, whether it was my youth, or my trusting nature, or both. Whatever it was, you had no right to do what you did.

I was only 5 years old, and my family had just moved here. I was outside playing by myself, and you approached me wanting to play too. I had no reason to believe you wanted anything else, so I consented. You offered to show me the inside of the trailer at the end of the street, a place which my sister and I had often wondered about, and I eagerly agreed. You then took me inside, locked the door, and abused me. You ripped my innocence away and left me confused and alone. I only remember one thing about you clearly, your laugh. You laughed as you raped me. I don't remember anything that was funny. Frightened and confused, I remember. Funny? absolutely not.

When I got out of that sinister trailer, I went back home, afraid to tell my parents what had happened. I was scared that they would be mad at me. Later that day I made some remark about going into the trailer, and my mom yelled at me for playing by myself. When I told her about how you took me in there and locked the door, she hunted you down like the animal that you are to find out what you did. You cried and begged for forgiveness to escape punishment and, as far as I know, you succeeded.

You made my life a personal hell. My parents never spoke of it, preferring to pretend it never happened. They must think that I was too young to remember it, but I do. Because you weren't punished, it didn't seem to me that you had been in the wrong. For years, I figured that there must have been something wrong with me. All throughout my young adult life I felt responsible for your inhuman advances. Why didn't I do something to stop it? Why did I let you? Why didn't my parents do something? Was it ok? Am I making too big a deal out of it? What is wrong with me?

I was bad. I was dirty.

Unclean. Unholy. Unworthy.

I cried myself to sleep more times than I can count. I hated myself for what you did and what you made me. I thought about killing myself constantly. I secluded myself and became awkward around people. I was an internal wreck. The worst part was the show that I had to put on for my parents and friends. I couldn't let them see the pain that I was going through. It wasn't until recently that I saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

I have lived a life of personal torture for the past 13 years because of what you did to me. I am writing today to tell me that you can't hurt me anymore. I am no longer a scared little girl, I am an adult. It took me a long time to realize that it was not my fault, it was yours. I am writing this letter more for myself than for you, since you probably won't ever see it. I am writing this letter as an act of closure, to prove to myself and the world that I am over it, but I never really will be. You can't "get over" something like this. You can only accept it and move on. You are an evil, disgusting human being for what you did to me. Maybe my parents didn't do anything to put you in prison, but someone's parents will, and you will rot there for a very long time like the worthless piece of trash that you are. Although I am no longer bitter, this last fact gives me peace. Whether or not you face earthly judgement, God will have the last laugh as He sentences you to an eternity in Hell.

-Sarah