A body of a 3 month, feeble little baby girl, the size of my arm; gasps for breath as her hands frantically move back and forth. Her world, which was once wrapped around my finger, now crushes itself as her heart nearly jumps out of her body. Her lips are pursed into a frown as her baby blue eyes let out tears of excruciating pain. Her fingers are little and gentle, the kind you’d want to interlace with yours and caress forever. Her sobs and cries crumble our hearts as we struggle inconsolably. Her life support stops along with her tears, as her fingers curl against each other and drop on to the sheets. Tears streaming down their cheeks, the doctors pull the sheets over her little body, as they take off her baby pink frock sewn together by lace, and find bloody bruises against her little, harmless body. Traces of abuse, maltreatment and pedophilia are forever imprinted on her body to prove that the rapists fed their momentary pleasure at the expense of an infant’s life, who could barely identify the arms of her mother, but could simply smile at one another, even if she was held tight and being rocked to sleep in the arms of the person who eyed her as a sexual object.
One would never understand the depth of the inconsolable grief parents go through, burying a soul that just stepped into the world, back into the soil. Surely, the smallest graves dug, and the smallest coffins made, buried in more than just a dead body. It held the weight of a million dreams crushed before it could have a glance at the world. It held the weight of the eyes that could only seek for nothing but love, by its harmless filter of innocence. The body that could only contemplate wrapping its hand around a finger, is now wrapped by a piece of cloth, bidding farewell to a world, having experienced the cruelty before it could experience the good.
Was it the dress she was wearing, that exposed her little legs and asked for negative sexual attention? Or was it her little hands that held on to whatever it could reach, that made her look like an object that could be touched inappropriately by pedophiles? What was it about her that gave the rapists the urge to use her as their sexual toy? What was it about her that made their emotions ‘uncontrollably’ strong? What was it about her that gave them the right to usurp her life away, damaging every bit of her at a fraction of a heartbeat? What was it that ignited their mental illness?
And when justice is sought, will the dreams that were mercilessly robbed away from her, return?
When justice is sought, will pedophiles stop manipulating humanity into rendering them harmless and unintentional sinners, allowing them to engage in misconduct, repeatedly? When justice is sought, will it bring the beating dead, back to life?
When justice is sought, will it take away the grief burdened upon the shoulders of her parents? When justice is sought, would the parents, at least, get back the bundle of joy that was snatched away from their arms?
What’s even tormenting is the fact that child sex offenders are often subject to harmless punishments due to their neurological abnormality or psychological pathology that renders their commitment indefinite & involuntary regardless of the extent of cruelty and inhumanity in their deeds.
And when justice is somehow sought and prevailed for the crime committed, it is of no use as the damage is done. An end to such unjustifiable behaviour starts at prevention and therapy; the only key that pedophiles or infantophiles could never deny, if it is their mental health which is at fault.
Too many harmless souls, leave the world empty and bruised, days and weeks after they enter it; robbed of their purity before they acknowledge it.