slyc_willie
Captain Crash
- Joined
- Sep 4, 2006
- Posts
- 17,732
Yes, I know, I've been here over a year. But I want to be sure about this:
I have a story in which the main character and his sister were abused as children. Wanting to be realistic, the abuse on the part of the sister was sexual. There are no detailed flashbacks, no sexual descriptions of any kind. The most detail I get into is the following passage:
“No matter what, at first, whatever we did wasn’t good enough. Me and Jerri got lashings every fucking day. We’d do the laundry, make breakfast and dinner, keep the yard and house clean . . . but there was always something. And since I was older, it was my responsibility. Wasn’t long before he stopped using his belt and started using his hand . . . and then his fist.”
“Benji . . . .” bemoaned April, squeezing my arm.
I kept going. “But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst was when Jerri did something wrong, and after a while, once she was . . . anyway, she always seemed to screw something up, and dad always took her down to the basement for some ‘private’ discipline.”
I ground my teeth, memories flooding back. “Didn’t matter where I was in the house, or even if I was outside, I could hear her screaming and crying. I’ll never forgive him for that,” I said. “I swear to God, I ever see that asshole again, I’ll tear out his fucking heart and shove it down his fucking throat!” I punctuated my statement by lurching to my feet and throwing my half-empty soda to the ground. It exploded in a dark shower of liquid.
I paced back and forth a moment beneath the shadows of the trees, feeling the spikes of the sun through the leaves. April watched me, letting me calm down on my own. I took out my cigarettes, lit one. I inhaled deeply, let it out.
“I’m sorry,” came April’s voice.
I laughed ruefully. “Yeah. I am, too.”
“. . . Ben.”
“Yeah.”
“He’s gone, right? He’s not around anymore.”
I breathed in through my teeth. “No, he’s not. Mom finally got some sense in her alcoholic brain and divorced the asshole. But just like everything . . . too little, too late.” I laughed rudely. “Maybe I shouldn’t be too hard. He probably raped her, too.”
So, would this passage pass muster for Lit?
I have a story in which the main character and his sister were abused as children. Wanting to be realistic, the abuse on the part of the sister was sexual. There are no detailed flashbacks, no sexual descriptions of any kind. The most detail I get into is the following passage:
“No matter what, at first, whatever we did wasn’t good enough. Me and Jerri got lashings every fucking day. We’d do the laundry, make breakfast and dinner, keep the yard and house clean . . . but there was always something. And since I was older, it was my responsibility. Wasn’t long before he stopped using his belt and started using his hand . . . and then his fist.”
“Benji . . . .” bemoaned April, squeezing my arm.
I kept going. “But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst was when Jerri did something wrong, and after a while, once she was . . . anyway, she always seemed to screw something up, and dad always took her down to the basement for some ‘private’ discipline.”
I ground my teeth, memories flooding back. “Didn’t matter where I was in the house, or even if I was outside, I could hear her screaming and crying. I’ll never forgive him for that,” I said. “I swear to God, I ever see that asshole again, I’ll tear out his fucking heart and shove it down his fucking throat!” I punctuated my statement by lurching to my feet and throwing my half-empty soda to the ground. It exploded in a dark shower of liquid.
I paced back and forth a moment beneath the shadows of the trees, feeling the spikes of the sun through the leaves. April watched me, letting me calm down on my own. I took out my cigarettes, lit one. I inhaled deeply, let it out.
“I’m sorry,” came April’s voice.
I laughed ruefully. “Yeah. I am, too.”
“. . . Ben.”
“Yeah.”
“He’s gone, right? He’s not around anymore.”
I breathed in through my teeth. “No, he’s not. Mom finally got some sense in her alcoholic brain and divorced the asshole. But just like everything . . . too little, too late.” I laughed rudely. “Maybe I shouldn’t be too hard. He probably raped her, too.”
So, would this passage pass muster for Lit?