By Liscia Lawrence

“The story is extremely powerful and evokes many emotions to a reader.” – JUDGE

As my face was pushed deeper into the still damp soil, from the earlier showers, my nostrils flared at the pungent smell of stale urine and feces which caused me to gag and grasp for fresh air.  In my vacuous mind I tried to unravel the chain of events leading up to my immediate predicament. An innocent game of marbles, just beyond the back yard, had gone terribly wrong.  My eyes darted from one dirt smudged face to the next seeking out a friend, a rescuer, but in this game we loved so much they were the ring and I the brown girl “sha la la la la”. Each seemed transfixed by what was happening  in front of them, their ‘whoops’ and “yea man” became nothing more than a distant echo. They, my classmates, my boys, my ‘friends’ would do nothing to help.

I needed to get up to fight back, but I had exerted all of my energy on my childish games throughout the day.   There just wasn’t enough of a fight in me, and in that moment I felt the way I did when mom would send me to my own bed and turn the lights out, dread, something bad was about to happen. I felt her knee sink deeper into my stomach, there was no escape and with that realization the negative feelings quickly began to flood in.  The mud felt like wet dough between my fingers, my muscles tightened as I felt the insects which roamed the floor creep into my shirt down my back, cassi and broken bottles dug deep into my flesh drawing blood and my vision blurred with the tears which threatened to fall. This was the end of my world, as I knew it.

I had been drawn into a game to which the rules were still unclear, “me go show u fu me and u go show me fu u”, accompanied with the words which scarred me for life “trust me”.  She’d lied, she wasn’t who she’d claimed to be, she didn’t have Barbie dolls and princess dresses. She in fact was a he, cry baby tommy’s eighteen year old cousin who’d dropped out of primary school. It was possible for guys to have hair like me.

“Mommy” was the only word I uttered from quivering lips.  My pants and princess Ariel panties were now mixed with the mud and filth on the ground, my Bata slippers hung from my toes, my legs were yanked open and as I lay exposed, alone and confused my body rocked with the sobs I refused to release. His eyes burnt holes into my flesh, those eyes that reminded me of the way my dog looked at his food before he devoured it. His hands grasped at my throat, leaving me without air. My eyes were wide with fear and small ragged gasps escaped from my throat. I could sense myself drifting away from my body, to a more peaceful place where there were no worries in the world. Then reality came back, my legs went numb as my vagina burst into what felt like a million pieces. I’ll forever remember those laughing eyes which dared me to scream as he tore into my innocence. I closed my eyes and tried to drown out the panting and grunting of my attacker. The kicking of my feet did nothing to dull his attack on me, not even when I puked and choked did he stop.  I clawed my fingers at his hands as I uselessly tried to loosen his grip of my throat. This was a race which he was determined to finish. His final attack, he stuck his pocket knife in the palm of my hand, his voice in my ears ‘tell anybady an mi kill you!’

“Hush little baby don’t say a word” mommy’s voice in my head, and as fast as it began it was all over. It was the summer of 1992 mom was at one of her many jobs and I was left in the care of a friend. I was five years old. Sitting in my blood, covered in muck, staring at the gaping hole in my hand the tears finally began to fall, “mommy” the only word I’d utter for the day.


Author’s bio: Liscia Shermica Lawrence is a past student of the Clare Hall Secondary School. She recently graduated from the University of Medical Sciences in Matanzas Cuba where she received her Bachelor’s degree in the field of Physical Therapy and Rehabilitation. In her spare time she enjoys reading, writing, playing volleyball or just hanging out with friends and family. Liscia was also an honourable mention in the first year of Wadadli Pen and third placed in 2005. She blogged about what the opportunity meant to her ahead of the 2014 Challenge. She was an honourable mention in 2014 in the 18 to 35 age category.

Copyright belongs to the author; so, no stealing.

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Filed under A & B Lit News Plus, A & B WRITINGS, Wadadli Pen 2014, Wadadli Pen News

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