Another Gift

Short story about sacrifice and betrayal Thoughts on reordering a past to a reordered present.

My eldest granddaughter recently turned 13.

A couple of months ago now and it shakes me up.

At her age, I was already neatly used up, disregarded.

Sold.

For kicks really. The ultimate. No, not open faced erotica, split legs, moist lips and rosebuds. Not the kind of erotic nudity one may think. For artistes... I sneer. Those kind. Graceful vaginas, with the Grecian jug kind of pictures.

Where you still get to take off all your clothes in front of everyone, lay around 'just-so' and have your mother, father, the artist in question, the photographer and lighting guy running around and touching your body.

Here, right here, like this. Sweating, sad and very very angry. Everyone looking, inspecting this naked bare so horribly exposed child at such an impressionable point of life.

“She's almost 13!” I would hear for nearly a year to come before.

From 12 to 13 was a torture.

Was 13 a magic number or something waited with anticipation, something grand, the age of being?

They appraise me daily, quick glances at one another. Almost, almost. We can barely wait! “You're at that cusp of turning from a child into a woman. We'll pay you.” Says my mother. I can see the mania in her large brown eyes and the way she purses her lips, arches her eyebrows. The tilt of her head with her determined jaw uplifted, says, “you lucky girl, who knows not what I do for you”

For who, I wonder. Money has little meaning to me. That will change.

I never got the money of course. The artist paid my mother for the pleasure. It was 'her' sacrifice. Look at what I offer you, arms held high and open. Never one for small gestures. You are dismissed.

Her child, birthed and raised in a household of secrets, alcohol and anger, violence and money. Another possession. Just another gift to her lover. Certainly not the last, perhaps not the largest to come. She was generous enough to give it, after all. What do I expect? In front of her husband, with who the child she accused of having a strange relationship.

I am now 58 years old. I still can still immerse myself in righteous anger. Totally drown in it, turn thick black and bloated, laying face down in it. Floating frozen. Gag and spit, try to catch my breath while throwing it all up anger.

To see my granddaughter, so young and new and on the double edge, ready to explode with life, confuses me. Makes my chest ache and tighten and I start to feel anxious. I feel old, jaded, cheated.

But it doesn't last long. At least not anymore. My mother is now dead.

Can I hate someone who is dead?

What would be the point.

A month after the so-called art incident, I was raped under the bridge. On my way home from school, I never even screamed. I just got up and walked the two more miles home. Never told anyone, because who would care.

It was my own sacrifice of my own self.

Author's Note

Thoughts? Please feel free to help me write better for better understanding. Thanks!

Reviews

[IWRITE]

i want to tell you things like, "oh yeah, you can improve this line and i would change that line to such and such"

but.... nothing i can actually find to do that with.

you know what i like about this? it comes off as raw. like a fresh scab being torn from the skin because it itches and you're not quite ready to let it heal yet. it's too fun to pick at. it feels too good to itch.

that's what came to mind.

i like the dirty, gritty rough edges. the imagery that makes you grimace.

this was particularly effective:

"Totally drown in it, turn thick black and bloated, laying face down in it. Floating frozen. Gag and spit, try to catch my breath while throwing it all up anger."

it cuts just deep enough to make the reader feel it. and i love it.

i'm glad i stumbled on this. excellent writing. i wish i could offer some ideas for tightening or trimming fat, but i really can't see any. it's short, sweet, and sinewy. thank you for posting it.

i hope it gets published. it's short and entertaining enough that it could be very easily, i think. i would read it. and i only read good writing...

[Thoughts]

Thank you so much, Manic! I was afraid to share my thoughts, but I am sucking up that puddle like many others right now. No more time for fears, or what ifs. Totally intrigued with your use of 'sinewy'....hm. (immediate visuals). I appreciate your review comments very, very much.

[Wolfwind]

Wow... I don't think I could offer any suggestions to improve this piece of ink. It's well writen, it takes us to a place that modern society doesn't understand anymore. It's a soul exposed in a way that makes are part of me numb and another want to build a time machine.
All together these words a riviting and pulling, for the make us see a dark fog type of truth. A truth that you've presented well and makes this reader really fall deep into thoughts about life, the universe and mankinds existence.

Thanks for sharing.
Aaron

[Thoughts]

Thanks so much Aaron. You have no idea how much your comment means to me. I have never shared any writing with anyone and just put these up. I write all the time, but am busy in glass and fine art. Thanks again....I will have to start reading everyone's work! Daunting task here. Donna

[Wolfwind]

You're welcome! You're sunflower was a bright object on my screen and pulled me to come look at your ink. I'm glad I did! =)