"Baby did a bad bad thing, baby did a bad bad thing." Chris Isaak

October 17, 2012

Hell on Earth - lyn.barnes

It is a dark and stormy night somewhere, not here. It should be dark, but the sun is shining, I can hear other kids playing on the playground equipment outside the open window. I want to be out there, with them, playing. But I am here, that creeping feeling sliding through my belly, my mouth dry, my mind empty of everything but fear. 

I stand before the large, ornate desk, frozen. I can barely breathe, can't feel my hands, my feet. Next it will be my legs and my arms. I will them to disappear quickly, will all of me to disappear quickly. Not quickly enough. 

"Take off your dress." there is an eldritch tone to his voice, part conspirtorial, part dictorial, all impatience and titillization; not to be ignored, though I would, if I weren't so afraid. 

My hands fumble with the buttons down the front of my dress; they are invisible and hard to use. The dress slips off my invisible shoulders and arms, falling around my invisible feet. I am gone, all of me, but the parts he will now touch, fondle, prod. I listen to the children outside the window, think I can hear Juliette ask where I am. 

I want to tell my mother what is happening. I started to, reminding her of the stories about that girl a few years older than me, at my school a few years ago. She yelled at me, told me to stop bringing it up, calls that family, that girl a blasphemer, tells me I am blasphemous. I don't say what's being done. What has been done. 

I know it is over when I feel the wetness between my legs, smell the bitter acrid odor. He is gone before I can bend over and pick up my dress, before I go to the restroom adjoining his office and clean up, before I redress myself, literally and figuratively. 

I am on my way outside to find Juliette and Samantha when Sister Marianna stops me in the hall. I cringe, afraid she can smell his sex on me. 

"How was your visit with Father Beautreaux?" I lie, say it was fine; as if she would care, doesn't know what he does in there with us.

I am an abomination, a pustule on the face of humanity.

1 comment:

  1. It definitely fits the theme, but that is a painful read for this usually somewhat light-hearted Gallery. My heart aches for the protagonist, fiction though it may be. That is all too real a scenario for all too many real people out there.