He and She: Linda Griffiths’ Gendered Family

Abstract

I’m twelve years old and he’s been watching me for a while. I can feel his eyes on me. I even wiggle my bum a little when he’s around. He brought me something special to eat once, and I ate it all alone, hiding. I’m twelve years old, when I found the blood, my mother laughed, then crossed herself. Now you’re in for it. The night comes, I sort of expect it, but I don’t know what it is. My dad’s got huge arms and a bloated face, big bulging brown eyes with lots of veins, all watery, like a dog’s. He just hauls himself on me, pulls my legs apart, then shoves his thing up me, like a kitchen knife like a knife so far up I didn’t know it could go, right up me so far I think it’s gonna rip me in pieces, pounding away. When he crawls off I wipe the slob from my cunt and get out of there. Maybe I kill him, I don’t know. I can’t remember.