When your mother decides you are too little to understand and your father stares blankly in your face with no answer to offer, you know you are torn between two worlds. You decide to let go, to ask if perhaps it is your doing but a sigh follows your question and your parents turn their backs and you stare but in confusion.
The morning owl that woke you up that day sent chills down your spine. It was as though nature had given consent to the foreboding and patiently waited for you to discover at the end of a voyage of mystery.
‘Why did you let him touch you? Why couldn’t you wait?’
You almost point to your chest to assert if you are being talked to, she nods.
‘Who touched me? I don’t know, in what sense? ‘ a pause then, ‘I do not understand Mother.’
‘Why will you…
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