Do Not Forget



DO NOT FORGET



The night that will stay long enough to haunt you is not that dark a night. Someone grabs your breasts in bed, and you wake up and, before you know it, he pulls your nightdress over your head, lies on top of you, and then lodges his member on the region below your navel. You fight and fight, slap, and even scratch his face with your fingers. Even while you kick and kick, struggle and scream, he doesn’t stop. And your bed quakes and quakes, until he is done in about 5 mins, having filtered your 23-year-old better parts, and springs to his feet. Satisfied.

It is your uncle, Joe.

You are broken. Shock hangs like a rain cloud. You don’t believe this has happened to you, that Uncle Joe, your mama’s younger brother, can break you. People who broke women forcefully into pieces were total strangers; they were people you heard about on TV or radio, or read about in newspapers. Not people you knew, people related to you. Uncles, no. And Uncle Joe of all people?



You are crying. Uncle Joe then switches on the light and walks in with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He sits on the bed. His body smells like forest wood that fills the room, fills your nostrils.

‘I’m sorry this won’t happen again,’ he says and pours himself wine.

You say nothing. Just moping.

Uncle Joe goes over to stand in front of the wardrobe, backing you. ‘It won’t happen again,’ he says again, his voice echoing in your head a million times. Resentment fills you. Then it occurred to you. You quickly gather yourself, and with a metal object you have picked from the edge of your bed, you hit him. And when he screams, you hit him again and again, until you are sure he is dead. People will find out, you know ― sooner or later ― and, a little later, you sit on the floor and let the tears gathering in your eyes fall down to your lap.



1 comment:

  1. Wow this is really sad
    But I really don't understand why the story would end like this

    ReplyDelete

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