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A GameThis story may contain adult content. |
| Written by Rae Stegall | |
| Thursday, 03 July 2008 | |
I wonder what might have been. You know, if my parents didn't die. Maybe I wouldn't be in the situation I'm in now; under my as he thrusts in and out of me violently. I'm not screaming as I should be. It's because this pain lets me know I'm alive. That doesn't mean I like this sick little game he plays. I want it to be over, I want to be with my parents; alive or dead.
Sometimes my uncle uses a knife when he comes in for his nightly game. With the knife he can tear me inside and outside. He leaves it with me. Maybe he knows I'll use it. I don't want to, but sometimes I give into the urge to find my own release.
I hear a grunt and come back to reality. My uncle has reached his orgasm and is getting ready to leave. He didn't use the knife this time like I had hoped. I have it in plain sight on my bedside table. It doesn't matter. I'll use it later.
There is nothing I can really do to help myself until my uncle goes to sleep. When he does I sneak out and go clean myself up. I hate the feeling of that stuff inside me; it makes me want to puke. At first I did, but I grew used to it. Though I tolerated it, I still cleaned myself as fast I could without making to much noise.
I sneak out like I do after I clean. It's so easy to sneak out of the house, yet I don't run away. I can't. There is nowhere for me to go and at least here I have everything I need. The only thing I don't have is love, but I have never known love and I can't miss what I've never known. The concept is simple.
It is chilly outside and I'm only wearing a t-shirt and shorts. But I don't go in and get a jacket. The cold is much more preferred then my uncle's heat around me as he plays his game. And the stars and moon are so much nicer to look at then his ugly face.
I go inside and go to bed. My sleep is dreamless.
I'm fixing breakfast when my uncle wakes and comes downstairs. He smiles and acts like nothing happened. It's always like this. I give him his breakfast; I leave the eggs undercooked. I always do that in the hopes that he gets food poisoning, but he never does nor does he ever notice anything odd about the eggs.
My uncle is a short, fat man. He has three chins and light brown hair. There is little muscle under the fat but more then I have. He weighs about three hundred and something pounds and works as a butcher. Me, on the other hand, I'm tall and skinny. I'm fourteen years old, (my uncle is forty-five) I weigh about a hundred pounds, and I'm five foot, eight inches. I have long, straight red hair that goes down just past my shoulders. My name is Seamus. I'm half Irish, on my dad's side, thus the name.
I clean after breakfast. My uncle goes to work and I manage to get some food from the fridge. I have to sneak only a little and not cook it so he doesn't notice that I have eaten without his consent.
Afterwards, I go to my room and wait. My room is the smallest in this three bedroom house. There is one window and it is on the far side of the room. My bed is in a corner with a bedside table beside it. There, on the bed, was the same bloody sheets I'd been using for years; blood, brown now that it was dry, stained it, forever reminding me of my uncles game. There are two piles of clothes on the other side of the room; one for clean clothes, the other for dirty clothes. The walls are an off white and the carpet is light brown.
I have nothing to do, so I do what I do everyday. I wait. I wait for my uncle to come home so I can fix him dinner. After that he'll start getting real close to me and start kissing me and leading me up the stairs. I never kiss back. I never moan or do anything to suggest that I liked it. Apparently, it didn't matter to him. This was for him, not me.
It's Saturday, so he'll be home an hour earlier the usual. Soon, too soon, it's six thirty and time to start dinner. By the time I'm done fixing him dinner he's home. It's homemade pizza, his favorite.
When he's done he walks up to me and starts rubbing on my upper arm. I close my eyes and shiver in disgust. As usual this progresses into kissing and soon he's leading me to my room. He lays me on the bed and strips me of my clothes. Pulling his pants down to his ankles, he gets ready to enter me. He turns me over so I'm lying on my stomach. Quickly, he enters me.
He keeps thrusting and thrusting, moaning all the while. He enjoys it immensely, I know. I'm quiet, oh so quiet. I make not a sound though it feels as though I'm being torn in two. Soon he reaches orgasm and pulls his wilting member out. The feeling of his essence inside me disgusts me.
But I do something different tonight. I turn around as he pulls up his pants. He's smiling a victorious smile, as though he had just won a game. A game. This really is all just a game to him. And he's right. He has won.
I've lost. Copyright 2008 Rae Stegall |
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