He looked up and saw that I was still watching, my mouth open in shock. I’d had the presence of mind to grab the girl, Joyce, and hold on to her tig...tly. Both she and Davina were sobbing in terror.“I’m sorry you all had to see that,” he told us quietly but firmly. “I did tell you to get on the transporter pad.”The day was getting worse.Joyce seemed to want to pull away and go to her uncle. Presumably to tend to him. Something I guessed she had been doing for a long time.“No,” I told her softly.. For her happiness either just came or didn’t no matter where she went. Such was the female poet’s dilemma. While she pushed herself to greater heights, there was always something weighing her down, dragging her below the earth no matter how hard she tried. It seemed to her like an odd paradox—the more intense the search, the farther happiness moved away. It had been this way ever since the incident in front of her home. It took suffering to realize these paradoxes, as though the incident, still. I can assure you I wasn't feeling proud of myself in any way, I was feeling a more frightened I suppose. I guess, that being under this powerful and strongman`s total control was adding to the situation. He instructed me to put my hands in front of me. I did so, and stood while he attached the nylon straps to each wrist pulling the straps against my skin tightly. Then he gripped my waist and pushed me forward quite forcefully so I was positioned underneath the row of old ceiling hooks. I. Ami jhapie porlam o dutor upor. Du hate dhore chuste laglam mai duto.Mar nipple duto khara hoye ase. Ami ekta dudu mukhe nie jore jore chussi r ma gungasse. Kotokkhon pore ma arekta dudu amar mukhe thele dilo ami otake onekkhon chuslam. Mar bota duto lal hoye gese, r buker ekhane okhane amar hater sap sposto. Ma buker proti amar agroho bujhte pere bollo, tor dudu bujhi khub vallage? Ami bollam ha. Ma bollo, egulo tomar, tumi jokhon chao khete parbe, dhorte parbe. Ma abong amar shorire olpo olpo.