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Colorful and hopefully optimistic but maybe hateful occasionally

Pain is triggering me. I’m just going to vomit it out.

The toon was an upright dog. It had blue fur and it ruled an entire world that was in chaos. But we were sitting together, it trying to talk to me about the practical uses of pies. There are many types of pies. It also trying to be protective.

“I’ve come to care a lot about you,” it said. “You’re unique. You’re not really a toon. You’re some kind of other.”
But then I couldn’t focus on the other world anymore. Something ripped out angrily. I stayed obediently quiet. I hoped the warmth was blood and not semen. He picked me up roughly, grabbed me by the wrists. He pulled me up to the top of his bed, which was taller than me.

“Don’t get down. You’ll just hurt yourself.” He suddenly left. He was slamming things on his bathroom. I realized I was shaking. I forced myself to stop.
A bad smell met my nose. It made no sense at first. It was masked within the smell of Billie the dog, who wouldn’t get her bath until next week, and the smell of cigarettes. Maybe it was blood. Maybe it was his.... other stuff.

But then I realized it smelled like piss. I realized he’d pissed on me.
He came back. He was holding a knife. I closed my eyes and tried to be with the toon dog. It wasn’t working. He cut into his own mattress.

“Smell it.”

I did.

“How old are you?” he demanded. He didn’t give me a chance to answer. I felt disgusting.

He added the bits of mattress to his Collection Box. He kept my panties in there as well. I understood instantly that he was both angry and satisfied, at the same time.

He gave me something of his niece’s. I gave Billie and Shadow a treat.
I walked home. I opened the door to the front room. I had cleared a way to the front door, despite my dad’s protesting, a while ago.

My mom was on the couch. She looked like a zombie. She smelled like... cancer? I guess? Fuzzy the cat was laying on her chest. My mom reached for me. I was afraid that if I touched her she would die. I didn’t want her to die unhappy.

Writing this, I wish I could go back to the police interview room and play with playdough again. And explain what happened. But they weren’t looking at me with the care I expected. I was too afraid to say the wrong thing. To say anything. I told them it only happened once. But he only took my clothes and skin once. Brandi took credit for my mom being strong. My mom was sobbing when they told her. They forced me to tell her. I didn’t want her to know. They forced me.

At school after the assault. The teacher asked why I was limping. I said, “Lindsey pushed me down on the playground.” She really had. I had told the teacher and she had rolled her eyes under her hand, assuming a child like me wouldn’t know what that meant. Then told me to “ignore her.”
Now, the teacher blushed. “Oh.” She didn’t bring it up again. I understood that she was embarrassed for having not listened to me and I felt terrible. I started getting confused about what was real.






I don’t want to talk about it any further.
 

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