Porsha

“The victim was beaten to death in her own home by her husband, after reporting him twenty times. Twenty. Reporting abuse is your best defense. Killed in your own home. Women killed for walking the streets at night. Women killed for being whores. In your own home. Nowhere is safe. Nowhere. Being a woman means living in a state of emergency. He murdered his wife in front of their five-year-old daughter. Woman killed in a hit-and-run. Shot to death in her room. There is no room of one’s own when men think our bodies belong to them. Buried under her bathroom floor. There is no room of one’s own. Every two hours and twenty-five minutes, a woman in Mexico is strangled, raped, dismembered, burned alive, mutilated, beaten to a pulp, and left with bruises and broken bones. A woman’s body, another woman. Some woman, a nameless woman. A lifeless body was found.”
― Dahlia de la Cerda, Reservoir Bitches: Stories

“The body had been impaled and mutilated. Stabbed. Assaulted and found partially unclothed. The body of a woman was found with a gunshot wound to the face. A group of children in Ecatepec discovered the body of a young woman that showed signs of torture, though none of her wounds was fatal. The body of a woman approximately nineteen years old with facial bruising and a bullet wound to the head. The unidentified victim was found facedown in jeans, sneakers, and a white shirt. A sixteen-year-old girl was beaten and tortured with hydrochloric acid before being burned alive. According to early forensic reports, her corpse showed signs of having been buried alive.”
― Dahlia de la Cerda, Reservoir Bitches: Stories

“This is a serious allegation, they remind her, as if it’s the allegation that’s the problem. She is told all the things she shouldn’t have done: she shouldn’t have waited so long before going to the police. She shouldn’t have got rid of the clothes she was wearing. Shouldn’t have showered. Shouldn’t have drunk alcohol. Shouldn’t have put herself in that situation. Shouldn’t have gone into the room, up the stairs, given him the impression. If only she hadn’t existed, then none of this would have happened, why didn’t she think of that?”
― Fredrik Backman, Beartown

“She was killed by her boyfriend. By her husband. By her ex. By her lover. By her father. By a man. By the man who said he loved her. And then killed her. Her boyfriend murdered her and burned her body. Her boyfriend was a murderer. Her husband was a murderer. Her lover was a murderer. Love kills.”
― Dahlia de la Cerda, Reservoir Bitches: Stories