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A Knight in White Armor

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A Knight In White Armor

I had been going home when the beasts grabbed me. It was terrible, the sick, frightening feeling I'd felt when they started ripping off my clothes.

'No, please, don't do this! No no no no'

I was screaming inarticulate sounds of "No" and trying to fight them off, but I wasn't succeeding.

I am an artist. I specialize in oil canvas and Impressionist art. Sometimes I dabble in sculpting. I love classical music, Mozart being my favorite composer.

This couldn't be happening to me, it couldn't.

"No, please no!" I was crying and I couldn't control myself as they rip off the last shreds of cloth from my body.

They threw me over a crude mattress.

'No, not like this, I can't let beasts take my virginity, please no no no'

"Well, if it isn't billygoat, Billyboy." Came a deep voice. I felt the creatures' grips on me slacken and I wasted no time in freeing myself and running away.

Before I was fully out of the place, however, I turned to look at my captor. He was beautiful, with fair hair and blue eyes; one eye widened by impossibly long eyelashes (fake probably.) He was smiling and wearing white; in this light, he looked like an angel.

'A guardian angel come to rescue me, his maiden, princess.' I felt my throat hitch at such a thought. He spoke again and I felt a shiver slither up my spine at his tremulous baritone.

Without listening to another word, I fled.

"Are you sure you're alright?" My friend, Marie, asked for the umpteenth time.

I sighed, staring hard into my cup of coffee, "I keep telling you, I'm fine." Except I couldn't get his image out of my head. My foul-mouthed guardian angel.

She sighed, shaking her pretty, brown curls, "I'm sorry, I'm just so scared that something like that would happen to you. It's a good thing they were arrested though."

I sighed again, feeling a bit irate, "Not all of them. Apparently my rescuers had beaten up my attackers a bit too badly."

She shrugged, "What did he look like anyway? Your rescuer, I mean."

I could help but smile as I sipped my over bitter coffee. "He's so beautiful. He looked like an angel, Marie. He had light hair and beautiful blue eyes. I'm trying to paint him now, you'll see then." And I was.

The next day, I was looking into the paper and I saw my angel's face, "Cat Lady Murdered!" the headline screamed.

'No, not my angel, he couldn't have done this.'

With great trepidation, I read the article.

'There must be a mistake, he was framed. Yes, he was framed, or that lady had it coming, he couldn't have done this!'

I threw the paper away and turned to my painting.

"When can I see it?" Marie asked. I've been working on the painting for a year now and it's just finished.

"In a bit, in a bit. Let me open my door first." I replied, fumbling with my keys.

I opened the door and showed her my masterpiece.

"He is beautiful." Marie said, eyes wide. I smiled, proud.

It was the angel's face and body, beautifully rendered in suits of white, one eye given such long lashes. There was a blue light coming from behind him, making him seem ethereal. There was also slandering red and vivid black sneaking up on him, from all over, an angel prosecuted.

"It's great, are you going to sell it?" Marie asked, snapping me out of my reverie.

"No! I'm putting it up in my gallery."

"Ludavico Treatment Drives Boy to Suicide!" the headline screams at me. I feel my throat clench as I read the article. From one hell straight into another; my dear angel!

"Terrible, isn't it?" Marie asked as she wrapped a couple of gifts we got for my angel.

'Alex DeLarge'

"Yes, but at least he's cured now."