DEATH PENALTY FOR CHILD RAPISTS

Rinaver Soriano

My nine-year-old self

would not have read the whole article.

Headlines were enough,

all she wanted

was for them to disappear

in ways language could never explain.

Pinch their noses to death

for daring to breathe in her scent.

Cut their tongues

for threats that swallowed her innocence whole.

Sever their manhood

so power could finally abandon them.

Take their arms

that once pinned down a trembling child.

Take their legs

that trapped her body

until fear hardened into stone.

Scatter his brains —

every fragment of evil,

every foolish cruelty he carried.

It was 2015,

a small village that did not know justice.

All she learned

was anger folded neatly

inside silence.

Sometimes she went blank —

a reminder

of being held

by the demon.

At night, tears crawled down her face,

Because she remembers her silent screams

she was never allowed to release.

Daylight meant survival.

Playing beneath the sun with other children

felt like freedom —

because devils like to hunt in the dark.

You can never call it justice,

even if you killed him

before my raging eyes.

But it would be the smallest thing

you could have done.

The horror has rooted itself

deep inside my becoming.

It does not leave.

It learns my name.

Yet somewhere,

if one devil among millions

never reaches another child,

that is a small act of mercy,

A fragile gift

for a little girl

still mourning

the innocence

taken from her hands.