Flash Fiction

DADU

She was in Dadu’s room...when dusk wiped out the light. She loved Dadu. She also loved his brown horse head keychain that swung languidly from his cupboard. She remembers horsey that evening when he took her to his room to play a game...and shut the door. “So that no one disturbs us,” he said. He lifted her on his lap and sat facing the low beach windows. “Let’s watch the sun set.” The soft breeze made shadows of horsey on the cupboard.

His lap was unusually hard. As she moved a little, he made a sound. “Uh...Did I hurt you Dadu?” He was breathing hard and didn’t respond. She was wearing his favourite dress. It had become a little tight, around two little mounds that had recently developed on her chest. Oh how she hated them!

Snap! The elastic sound killed her reverie. That hard thing was poking her now. Then his hand slid up the hem of her dress and rested between her legs. “What are you doing Dadu?” He said, “Nothing baby, watch the sunset.” Horsey's shadow was moving as slowly as his hand. Wasn’t it bad to touch there? Mommy said so...when she was scratching away an itch.

It hurt...a sound escaped. He pushed his fingers further. Then the back of her dress became wet. She must have definitely hurt him. It was dusk...the brown horse seemed black. She began to cry. “Sorry Dadu. I hurt you na?”

He lifted her off his lap and said, “Go change your dress. It’s wet.” He’s hurt. She was a bad girl. Mommy said so. As she opened the door, she turned back. Horsey, still swinging, never looked blacker. Dusk had wiped out the light. She ran.

February 2006