A teardrop. Bottle slipped, the shattering brought her back. She bent to pick a black piece, staring hard at her blurry reflection, then a cut. She must have stared a little too hard. The red little drops followed, she looked on as each drop hit the floor in slow counts, red , red, red, she felt nothing. Still holding on to a piece, she looked at her hand, the glass had cut deeper, it had red on it too. She stared hard at the blood stained piece in her hand, it wasn’t blurry anymore, she loved what she saw…
Holding the knife, a tight grip, slow strides, so slow she could count her steps. She stood in front of the mirror, the clock ticked loudly for seconds. No, she thought, green wasn’t appropriate for the occasion, she would wear white, yes! White. She looked so angelic. If only mummy and daddy could see her now, mummy would have given her a kiss on the forehead, daddy would have called her his princess.
She picked the knife, slower strides, so she wouldn’t ruin her outfit for the occasion, a tighter grip, she could even feel her heartbeat! She hadn’t felt her heart beat in a while. A smile crept up on her face.
He was pulling down his shorts, facing the water closet, back turned. She liked this, white tiles, white water closet, white dress, perfect. She looked at his round black buttocks, she thought, Uncle is really fat. It gushed out from his penis like tap water, but it wasn’t clean like tap water. She was so close now, her mouth was right above his round black buttocks, he smelt like spoilt beans. Her hands over hear head, she stabbed him, counting in her head, 1,2,3. He turned back, mouth agape, eyes bulging and stretched one arm towards her, swiftly she moved back, he landed with a heavy thud on his knees, he was close, she moved back again, he fell flat, face down.
Sitting on his back, she rubbed her red hands on her white dress, it was beautiful. Slowly pulling out the knife, she stabbed again, again and again, in very fast motion. No counting, just stabbing. She screamed and cried, rubbed her hands on her face. She was done. Her white dress cleaned the knife. She laid beside him on the no longer white tiles and held onto the knife, just in case…
The banging startled her back to reality. Glass piece dropped abruptly. Swift steps, door opens, big thick palm lands heavily on her cheek, no pain, no tears. “Stupid little brat”
He spits angrily at her, his saliva smelt the same as last night, the night before, the night before the night before and all other nights before those nights. He barks:
“Raise up your skirt”
Then his cracked lips break into a smile, his cream colored teeth and broken tooth shows.
“Just the way I like it! Now go lay gently on the bed for me. Uncle is coming”
She doesn’t like him doing it. But he doesn’t care. He says its his right and she’s his property. She thinks so too. He pulls of his trousers, lies on top of her, the stench from his breath hits her, she turns her head and stares at the wall. She thought: Mummy and daddy are watching and they are doing nothing.
He holds her legs wide apart, puts his big penis inside her, thrusting roughly, his sweat dripping on her tummy. She no longer closed her eyes like before. She grips the sheets in her small hands, staring at the wall, she sees the broken glasses stained with red and she smiles…