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Prose Challenge of the Week #25: Write a piece about cowardice. Minimum 10 words - Maximum 250 words. The winner will be chosen based on a number of criteria, this includes: fire, form, and creative edge. Number of reads, bookmarks, and shares will also be taken into consideration. The winner will receive $100. When sharing to Twitter, please use the hashtag #ProseChallenge.
DancinA

How can I tell? What will happen to him? He is family; it’s been years. He’s an invalid, now. Who would be so selfish? Why do it? He’s an old man.

But it haunts me. So many years ago, and it still haunts me. I was manipulated. I was 8. I was lonely and it bought me companionship. That simple act enabled me to stay in the tree house, the fort. It was my payment, my pass. I was with the big kids. It didn’t feel right, but he said it would be ok. He said the others couldn’t see us. I found out, they did. Then, the others wanted to pay me; wanted to give me a pass. I was 8 for God’s sake.

I was always alone. When he was there, there was a playmate. Maybe, I would have done anything to not be left out. I guess I did do anything. So much shame.

I didn’t want his company, afterward; but he wanted mine. He was always trying to get me alone. I developed nerve sensitivity. Touch caused pain. The doctor checked; nothing to see. No one touched me for two years. Then, no one wanted to touch me, amen. The mind is a wondrous thing.

My therapist says it was rape. He was 13. A stranger, yes, rape. But, your brother doesn’t rape you. He says, “It’s ok.”

And 50 years later, I’m still the coward who won’t tell.

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