KEMI’S STORY
It’s going to be Funke’s 19th
birthday tomorrow and I have a pretty gift for her; a pink and white large
print Amplified bible. I hope she likes it. I would have gotten her a phone or
a laptop but she needs the bible more.
Funke is afraid of the dark; at
least that’s what she told me. When she
first mentioned it to me it sounded funny but then I could see the fear in her
eyes as she spoke and I quickly cut her short with a dramatic soliloquy of
Psalm 23. The next time Funke broached me with the subject I didn’t let her
finish before I started telling her about the powers of Psalm 91. I haven’t
heard about it from her again.
I am not insensitive and I am not
wicked. I just don’t want to hear Funke tell me of horrors that I know too
well. I don’t want to hear about how daddy kisses her on the forehead and on
the nose just before he penetrates; I can still feel his cold lips on my face.
I don’t want to hear about how about how daddy squeezes and scratches her butt
cheeks right after he ejaculates; the scars on my buttocks bear witness to
that. I don’t want to hear how daddy whips her with his belt and almost
throttles her to death when she tries to refuse him or fight him; the scar
above my right eye that I tell people I got from a go-carting accident is a
monument to his cruelty.
Tomorrow is Funke’s 19th
birthday party and she is not the only I have a gift for, I have a gift for
Daddy as well. He will learn to hate the night.
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