Behind Closed Curtains

The room was held in a thick darkness; its only light from a single lamp post glowing blue behind the pulled curtains.  I was lying back in a big leather chair.  His dark image hovered above me in a rhythmic motion while the darkness  suffocated me and my body stuck to the chair.  The mixture of his cologne, his skin, and and the chill of late autumn filled my nose.  At fourteen I knew there was no use in crying, no use in screaming; no one would listen (no one ever had).  So all I could do was lay there, held in the secrecy of evening and let him do what he wanted with me.  All held in the hope that he would finally stop and start being my father…

wildfire
still burns deeply
in the barren ground

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