e shoved her into her own room with such force that she missed the bed entirely and went sailing head first onto the stiff wooden floor planks scratching and scrapping her body against the edges of the bureau drawer and the metal frame as she fell. The house was eerily quiet except for his heavy footsteps against the hallway tiles as he raced back into his room, opened a single drawer then slammed it shut. The radio couldn’t drown out the loud thumping of his size eighteen hard leather soles thundering back or her arduous, heavy breathing, wheezing for air as she tried desperately to regain balance and consciousness. She was literally hunched over for the pain emanating out from her twisted elbow and her now swollen skull when he returned. He threw the door open and the knob smacked into the sheetrock cracking its surface. There he stood for a brief moment with a glint in his eyes that gave way to her understanding as to what might come next. She wondered if he would use the belt or if he had some other weapon in mind. Evil hadn’t a shape or texture for her anymore but instead a smell and an intensity of which he reeked. Between the dirty, salty sweat on his forehead and the redness circling his pupils she became paralyzed. With her feet feeling as if they were cemented to the floor, she couldn’t move. It didn’t matter though because he lifted her up with one hand and hurled her down hard onto the bed. She felt the coils jarring into her back and neck as she landed with a slamming jolt. She never ever liked it when they were alone in the house. He looked
meaner than hell, eyes glistening scarlet. “Leave me alone! Leave me alone,” she yelled but it came out in a raspy whisper because her lungs felt collapsed. This latest commotion was a continuation of the argument they’d been having earlier. The thought of him hitting on her because she disagreed with him upset her beyond reason. Yet she was, as usual, prepared to fight. Her nerve was way up. Her fists curled and ready but he didn’t reach for his belt this time. Rather he grabbed hold of her leg and with great effort began yanking at her pants, snatching them at the foot along the fold of the double stitching. He yanked and yanked until he pulled them clean off and they lay in a tangled heap at the foot of her bed. “What are you doing?” she yelled kicking at his knees and screaming at the top of her lungs for him to stop. At first she figured that he wanted her to feel the welts on her bare flesh but there was something else in his eyes that wasn’t quite adding up to his usual whippings. He looked more licentious and ravenous like a wild dog. “Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Stop! Stop! What do you think you’re doing?” and this time audibly with a tinge of disbelief at what she perceived might be happening. He reached behind him and turned the radio volume up to drown her out. ‘Who can hear me now?’ she thought. Then he reached down her body touching every inch along the way, toward her underwear. That’s when her entire world stopped and spun on its head. She completely ceased movement altogether and just looked at him in shock as he began pulling her panties down at the waist. She instinctively reached for them as well all the while holding tightly to the thin bands trying desperately to keep them resolutely up and securely on. She kicked and hollered with all the strength she had in her but his hands were large and strong and before she knew it, her underwear were off too, flung and disappeared somewhere in
the room. At this point she was so horrified that she became deathly afraid. Yet in anguish, she kicked and screamed some more. “Stop! Stop! Gotdamit! Stop!” she shouted, “What are you doing?” she sobbed. Then he pinned her down with his knee pressing down fiercely against her legs so that she couldn’t move. She kept saying over and over again in her mind, ‘Oh, my God! Oh, my God!’ Oh, my God!’ She just couldn’t reasonably comprehend what was on his mind. It was unreal. It was revolting. She actually felt physically ill. Again his stare pierced her, all of her, examining every hidden, private place. She tried to shield herself from his hideous face as his bulging eyes began ogling her and then of all hellish things, he began fondling her with his huge grotesque, dirty fingers. They roamed so indecently that all she could think to do was cry for the shame of it. With her arms flailing about she screamed some more though it was of no use. Then she tried to ball up into a rigid posture in order to fend off his improper ravaging but his strength was overpowering. “Stopppppp! Leavvvvvvve mmmmmeeeee alone! Leave me alone! What are you doing? You have no right,” she yelled, she begged, she pleaded but again to no avail. It was as if he couldn’t hear her at all. He was so singleminded in his evil, immoral quest. Then he grabbed at her legs again, one with one hand and one with the other and pried them apart. It was then that she realized that she had had them knitted together at the knees for dear life. He wrenched them so determinedly that she was split farther than the muscles could bear. It was an agonizing hurting that tore throughout her entire body as he stretched her wide open. “No! Stooooop! Stop!” she shrieked. She cried for salvation from this terror, this fiend who then
focused all his energy on what laid between her legs. He glared at her tiny womanhood disrespectfully and seemingly forever. She prayed for that to be the sum total of his intention. If Allah was with her that day, that was what she believed in him for but no relief came. He pressed down on her thighs with one hand while unzipping his pants with the other. “You can’t do this to me! You’re not supposed to do this to me,” she yelled at him shaking fiercely with anger now from behind a pillow. She had covered her eyes with it hoping that if she couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see her but that was the reasoning of a little child. “Shut the f- up. I do whatever the f- I feel like,” he barked back at her as if she was nothing, as if she was filth. “I’m not ready for this! You can’t do this to me!” she screeched. “Yes, you are,” he smiled so repulsively that she didn’t even recognize him anymore. Grabbing hold of her favorite Pepé shirt, he ripped it right down the middle of the cute little draw string. Then he whacked the pillow she was holding so harshly that he chipped her front tooth and caused her to bite down on her tongue. “L’eeeeeave mmmme‘lone. Leave me alone,” she mumbled with a sore lip bleeding, “Stop! Stop!” she cried, “You’re not supposed to be doing this to me.” He just bore his eyes down at her bare breast, which hadn’t fully grown in yet. “But you’re my father,” she simply said to him very much as an appeal. Surely there was something wrong in all this. That he would presume to take his own daughter. “Shut the f- up! Shut – the - f- up! I do whatever the f- I feel like. You are my child so if I want to have you, I can. Now,
shut the f- up I tell you! Shut the f- up,” he said repeatedly. “No, you can’t! No, you can’t,” she kept on screaming at the top of her lungs trying to raise her thin small voice above the loud music and the hectic sounds of the city’s own harsh den. “You want to hang out all night with your friends. You think you’re grown now, don’t you? You don’t think you’re old enough to marry? I’ll show you how old you are,” he said drooling spit from the corner of his mouth. “I’m telling mom. As soon as she gets home I’m going to tell her! I’m going to tell her, I swear! You can’t do this to me. You just can’t do this to me. You just can’t,” she continued through uncontrollable sobs. He slowly reached around down by his ankles. She thought he was at long last searching for his belt of which she believed she’d be grateful if he had. However, before she knew it he had once again snatched the pillow from in front of her face and thrust a nine-millimeter into her forehead. The compression left a dent and she could feel the coldness of the barrel all the way down her spine. She didn’t look closely at the gun. Rather, she kept both eyes on him. She just knew from his unswervingly quiet tone that he was deadly serious. “You tell. You go right ahead and tell…,” speaking ever so softly, “…that will be the last breath you take,” he said with a chilling calmness in his voice. At that, she had stopped breathing momentarily. She believed he’d do it. He’d kill her. Actually she was preparing herself for the worst and there was a remarkable tinge of tranquility that came with that thought. She was going to die. He was going to pull the trigger and her brains would be splattered all around her room. Though she did not think she was ready to die, there was nothing she could do about it now. If she fought him, he’d shoot. If she tried to run, he’d shoot. Time seemed to have stopped entirely because she had it to formulate her opinion on this
matter. Oddly, she realized that she still had some control even in this horrific time of trouble. She could die fighting or she could simply give up. She began to realize then that she would rather die than have him do this incestuous deed to her. So she yelled all the more. “Kill me! Kill me!” she begged, “Please, kill me,” she screamed for it, “Please!” She truly wished that he had because right after that she thought he had rammed the barrel of that giant weapon inside of her in a most unnatural and awful way. She had no idea that she could be in so much pain. A sharp avalanche of throbbing riddled through every inch of her. The wind was knocked right out of her and her head recoiled back from the shock wave that struck as she scrambled to breathe. That thing penetrated so deep that she could feel it all the way up to her neck and at the back of her throat. It nauseated her and she started choking from it and from the blood that had settled in the bottom of her mouth. It tore a pathway into her that was not where anything should ever lawfully go let alone a trespass. It ripped through flesh and bone boring a hole in the skin and destroying anything that lay in its wake. It severed something entrenched within her very soul. “You’re my pro-per-ty and I can do what-ev-er the f- I want to you. You’re li-ving un-der my roof and as long as I say so you will do what I like,” he pitched and shook on top of her as if his mighty fists were pummeling her broken body. His massive weight crushed her ribs which battered her windpipe. She was being devastatingly suffocated and she began to feel light-headed. Then the odorous smell of his breath assaulted her as much as he and she could barely stay conscious for the torture and the putrid nature of it all. She felt as if she had this tender open wound that someone was recklessly pounding with the prying side of a hammer. With each insertion of this
thing her guts gave way as if they might spill out. It was as if she were being sawed in half. She didn’t want to die this way. She didn’t want to die this way. She didn’t want to die this way, but if it were going to be this way, if there was ever such a time in her life, she was ready. At this point, she even longed for it. Then she began to sink into the persuasion of it, of death and with that keeled over.
Unbeknownst to Kinni Bragia, our Harlem born heroine, her entire life has been predestined by the likes of a bunch of old dead bones, those...