A little Girl
© By Cheryl
In front of a window, the little girl watched the trees swaying wildly as if they had a life of their own. The wind, an unseen presence, was their tormentor on this cold, rainy night. Dark clouds blanketed the sky and thunder rumbled in the distance, terrifying her. She was glad for the outside light; she was afraid of the dark. Storms scared her, but she feared another presence more, only in human form.
Her little heart pounded as she quietly did the dishes. The girl tried to think of herself as invisible, an unseen entity in the old, farm kitchen. Only, she was not. Her reflection in the rain sheeted-window said otherwise. With a soapy finger, she touched the silkiness of her ash-blonde hair. She wished it were longer like her sisters. She hated it. Why did it have to grow so slowly?
Bright, blue eyes, usually mischievous, appeared sad in the glass reflection. They were the windows to her soul and only God saw the depths of their pain. His unseen presence saw the fear and the horror in which she lived.
Only, she thought God could not help her; she felt truly alone.
Soft, pink lips were drawn together as she thought of her demise. There was no way out — not in her world. She only knew she had to be quiet and not shed a tear. But one did escape, trickling down her baby soft, skin, unbidden, suddenly there. Bravely, she wiped it away as fast as it appeared. There was no time for such foolishness. There were dishes to do.
The fear she knew so well, washed over her as her step-grandma left the room. Laundry piled up downstairs drew her away, leaving the girl vulnerable once more. She no longer felt safe. The moment had come; she was alone.
Her own tormentor loomed up behind her, unwelcome in the innocence of her world. But, unwelcome as he was, her step-grandpa would not go away. He was a part of her very existence.
His nearness intoxicated her; overwhelmed her.
Her lips quivered as she watched him in the window’s reflection. His tall frame was garbed in work clothes, warn and old, from his daily chores. Hair, sparse, was brushed to the side, shaping a wrinkled face weathered with age. Eyes, the palest of blue, were hidden beneath glasses as old as the man himself. A smell, unbidden, filled her senses as he drew closer behind her. She hated snuff. It made her nauseous.
Large hands, callused by years of hard work, rested softly on her shoulder. She cringed at his touch, wishing she could be invisible like the wind. If she were the wind, she would torment him as it did the trees outside. She would blow so hard, that he would be blown out of her world and no longer be a part of her existence.
But she was not the wind and she was not invisible.
Tears welled up in her eyes, again, unbidden. She closed them as she listened to him whisper softly in her ear. He wanted to make her feel good; touch her in the most private places. She relented. She had no choice; she was a child.
Her mind drifted, no longer in this cruel world in which she lived. She blanked out when his lips caressed hers and his tongue invaded the silkiness of her mouth. She hated the slimy texture and the remnants of snuff almost made her heave. She ignored the distinct flavor in which she tasted. She had too.
In her mind, she was where she loved to be; on her swing in the backyard, gliding high into the sky with the wind behind her. She felt the winds caress instead of the man’s as his hands found delicate skin beneath her shirt. Small breasts, pert and tiny, were the forbidden fruit in which he sought. She prayed that God would hear her prayers when large fingers slipped inside her cotton pants. But he did not.
Her grandpa — someone she trusted and loved had betrayed her trust and taken away her innocence. He’d awakened something inside her, making her aware of her own sexuality. She was far too young to be feeling such sensations. Overridden with guilt, she wanted to cry out for him to stop; only she couldn’t. She was lost in her own secret world, enduring his lust and his passion.
Time stood still; as still as the wind that no longer blew. There was only silence as the storm abated, becoming no more. Just like the rain outside, her tormentor disappeared as quietly as he had come.
Her grandma had returned. She was safe; for now.
The little girl’s name is Cheryl and as a woman, this is her prayer.
God, please watch over all the little children, protect them, and help them to be strong