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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Possible-Display-891 on 2026-05-28 22:45:46+00:00.

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I remember this one quote.

It has been stuck in my mind ever since I opened that book in my mother's study. It was a compilation of humanity's worst moments, all detailing similar terrible tales.

The quote was from a survivor of the Rwandan Genocide.

A group of militia men caught her trying to flee. Once they had decided what they'd do to her, they brought her in front of some school boys.

And what those men said to those children was;

“Watch. So we can show you how to rape a woman.”

Those words echoed in my mind as I watched my mother be dragged away.

I hid beneath the floorboards of an old dilapidated church. My mother's last act of free will was to hide me in that spot, the soldiers had caught her before she could find her own.

I heard her plea with her captors, begging for mercy and trying to appeal to what little humanity they had left.

Soon her wails mixed with the other women's outside.

It was followed by a trail of gunshots hours later.

The world must have gone mad, was my first thought.

Though maybe sanity was the real facade. Such evil could not exist without already lurking in the hearts of these self proclaimed ‘men’.

I could hear every detail of what fate had in store for me if I came out from my refuge.

If I knew I'd just be shot, despair would've led me to take every bullet. But I knew these men would not be so kind.

For while I was still a child, I was 14, I knew that would be woman enough for those greedy eyes.

So I laid, holding my breath as the footsteps of soldiers pattered around the church halls. I heard the screams of children as they called out for their mothers.

Even as their blood dripped through the cracks onto my face, I did not dare make a sound.

Days after they left, I still refused to move from that spot.

I would've stayed there forever.

I debated letting myself starve to death. But after seeing so many fight for their lives, it felt like an insult to give up now.

So I emerged, now able to see in full the aftermath of what I had only caught glimpses of.

Beside me were the bloodied husks of children.

All of us had sought refuge in what was once a house of God, though divine vengeance did not concern men who believed themselves to be righteous.

I never dared to look outside. I feared the state I'd find the women in.

Perhaps God had played favourites, with me surviving in their place.

I was not the only survivor of the ordeal. There were other children that had remained hidden in their own nooks and crannies.

We did not acknowledge each other. Instead, we remained in our respective corners unless searching for food.

We also could not acknowledge those that laid lifeless across the building. If the bodies were discovered to have been buried or moved, then the soldiers would know we were there.

So, we had to just leave them. A constant reminder of what waited for us.

One by one they'd pick us off.

Every other week, they'd patrol the areas already conquered.

They wanted us gone. Wiped out.

So, they did not want to miss any potential survivors. Especially children who could one day grow up and seek revenge.

They knew we'd grow hungry. So they'd leave food in reachable places to lure us out. Others sent women with warm faces and a shoulder to cry on, just for them to drag us out to the militia.

What started as roughly 25 survivors dwindled to 15. Starvation took another 8.

I dared not to learn any names. It would only hurt more when I'd watch the light fade from their eyes.

The others must've felt the same, since my name was never asked.

We survived on whatever little we could find.

The pipes were in poor condition, rusting from old age and creaking anytime the bathroom taps were turned. Water did not run from the faucets, instead they'd drip out in odd colours.

We scavenged for food.

The leather on old books. Bugs and maggots that clung to the corpses. If lucky, there'd be the odd dead rodent which we'd silently share amongst each other.

Most days we tended to ourselves. It was only on occasions like that where we could all feast that we stopped ignoring each other.

The more time that passed, the more our options dwindled.

The soldiers stopped checking our spot. Yet, the dangers continued.

I'd find myself eating my nails to try to satiate my hunger.

Relying on the fortune of something dying for us, wasn't working.

We had torn a part the church best we could. It was becoming hard to swat the flies gathered around the bodies in our weakened states.

Which left us with taking their food source from them.

An option none of us dared to act upon. We could not risk cooking the meat, and eating it raw was something not even our hunger could motivate us to do.

That, and the flies were not the only things feasting upon their flesh.

Those that laid outside the building would be torn apart by stray dogs in the night.

The ones that were stuck with us inside dripped to their predator as they melted in the summer heat. They trickled down the gaps in the floorboard to the one place we never dared to venture.

The basement.

If anywhere still had food, it was down there.

Behind that door.

In the night we'd hear the soft snarls of something inhuman. A gentle growl that would make the rooms rumble.

On the first night, I could hear it sniffing not far from where I hid. Under where my stiff body sat, was a small slither of the basement. As blood would trail down my cheek into the crevasses below, I could make out the sounds of something licking the planks directly under me.

Even the soldiers ran from that place.

It was the last location they decided to inspect, just for one to return with a bloodied arm.

We could hear the man's screams morph with the creature's wails. Its desperation to taste flesh could be felt in our bones, as its growls seemed more like pleas.

Every time they'd check if we were still alive, they'd never go back to that room.

And neither would we.

At night, I'd listen to it pace about. It was the only way I could drown out my own thoughts.

I'd find myself cursing my body.

The torment could've ended that night with my mother if I could've known a bullet was all I'd receive.

Instead, I had to dread making the same sounds she did before being put down like a dog.

Not even animals are treated that way.

At times I'd claw at my skin, wishing I could remove it to replace it with another's.

Why must I be cursed with these lumps that grow on my chest? If these tumours had not begun to develop would I be worthy to be deemed a child? If my skin was not so soft and was rougher, if my hair was short and less fair, if I had been blessed with extra flesh between my legs, would I be spared from the scenarios that raced through my mind?

I hated men.

Men who felt so entitled to bodies they did not own. Men who felt uniforms put them above morality. Men who used women they did not even deem as people like their personal toys.

My hatred wasn't extended far enough.

Women were no better. They'd kiss those same men and congratulate them for serving the cause. They'd encourage the slaughters and celebrate our humiliation. They'd even take up arms themselves and with glee gather children to be eradicated.

Just because they did not rip the clothes off the girls begging for mercy did not mean they didn't condone those actions.

No, men nor women were the problem. It was everyone.

I hated everyone. This world, the people that populated it - everyone was complacent.

How dare we allow a world where this was an inevitability? A world where the draw of a hat decides your destiny.

A world like that God must've abandoned long ago, just like this church.

As these thoughts would consume me every night, I'd try to focus on the humming grumbles of the beast that lurked beneath our feet.

From how it paced, I wondered if it was waiting for something.

I wondered how long it had been trapped in that place like us.

Each step it took was heavy, and thundering. Though what was much louder was the sound of it dragging its body across the floor. It sounded as if its guts were being spread and mushed in the process.

When I first heard it, it made my stomach turn.

The more time ticked away, the more familiar it became.

Despite the distractions it would bring, it still brought me no comfort knowing it was on the prowl every night.

The only thing keeping it away from us was that door.

I never dared to even look at it. I feared if I stared at it for too long, it would open like my imagination often forced me to see. Then it'd tear us apart before presenting us to the soldiers that had maimed us before it.

Despite those shared fears, one boy still attempted to persuade us towards insanity.

He was a similar age to me, maybe a few months to a year younger. After months of collective silence he made his name known along with his voice.

Emanuel.

It was a simple proposition, starve or risk the basement.

We could not last much longer without food, he was right about that. But we didn't know what we'd be fighting against.

Food was scarce, but most of us would've rather starved than face that thing.

Emanuel then presented the cause of his new found confidence.

An abandoned rifle.

“I found it down by the basement door! The soldiers must've left it in a panic. If we got this lucky without going inside, imagine what could happen if we entered.”

I couldn't h...

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