I could feel his eyes on me as I walked to the shop
Coins jingled in my school shorts
Darkness was falling
It was my favourite time of the day
Milk, bread, matchbox
I whispered over and over again
I was six
I could hear his stride behind me
I could feel his step in my core
Everyone else seemed to fade
The sky turned a notch darker
My step was suddenly faster
My young body was slowly running out of breath
As I turned the last corner
His hand fell on my shoulder
I felt something sharp dig in my ribs
‘Don’t you dare scream’, his hoarse voice croaked
As he pulled down my grey school shorts
A searing pain shot up my spine
And I remembered my mother’s now useless warnings
‘Nobody should ever touch you back there’
Her sweet voice rang clear as spring water
My body was painfully rigid
Fighting the searing knife
Tightening, Fighting
Fighting, Tightening
I could hear the little boy’s voice
Milk,
Bread,
Matchbox
As he limped painfully back home
I could hear the coins jingling
In his grey school shorts
Milk
Bread
Matchbox
Darkness had fallen
(c) PoP 14 Jul 2010
