Young Writers Society

Kind of disturbing and graphic, but a good read nonetheless. Innocent, charming Cecilia was a great foil for her domineering, possessive father. The introduction of the story was well done; you whetted my curiousity without giving much away. With every peice of information the narrator revealed about himself, the more suspenseful the story became--and the more I found myself rooting for Hugh.

Two complaints I have, however are:
1) I don't really think this story was suitable for kids under, what, fourteen? Could you please put that in the subject heading of your story? The "bedroom" descriptions were a little...well, strong at times. Thanks.
2) I wasn't a fan of the big vocabulary you used. Just my opinion.

i like your title, it makes a person stop and wonder what's up. also, the 'lisp' Cecelia has appears to be a result of her perverted father's abuse and makes it even more realistic.
only thing wrong that i see are the gigantic words you use. is a guy who gets his tenses mixed up going to know words like 'granoblastically' or 'erogenous'?
other than that, great job. very disturbing.

I'm not saying that this wasn't good, but all those critiques made it really hard to read and i found myself reading mouse's version so i had to read twice. The words were kinda hard to understand, and I do agree that a thirteen year old girl wouldn't talk like that. Also, I think she would be more aware of things than you are making out. Maybe thereason I didn't enjoy this is because I'm not really a fan of stories like this, but I sorta understood most of it and I like your style.

" “I guess we’re all perverts,” he said, as he went back to his room."
You are so right, that is pretty much all I got from the story. And I believe this is all I needed to find but believe me I already know we are all perverts.... and it appears you know that as well.

when i first saw the title i thought maybe you had spelt
it wrong or something but i get it now...

first i gotta say this is such a strange story - dont get me
wrong, it definately works and its a very good story at that
but it wasnt what i expected to read... the way it started out
it was like something from 'pride & predujice' era or whatever
(forgive me if that sounds wrong, technically i havent read
the book...)

this is the part that makes it obvious something is sorta
wrong with this guy...

You must understand, that my Cecilia, she was a mere thirteen years of age

Oh, ok, I get it. I get the firefly thing too. This is good, Brad...very good...wow

There are many secrets in this story. When you say "Hugh" it almost sounds the same as "you." The point of saying "Hugh were" is to clue the reader into the fact that the name the narrator (whose name is an annagram for Brad Stanley, in case you didn't notice) has assigned the name Hugh and is used as a homonym for you. Once in the story, the narrator refers to himself as Celicia's Cerberus, the demoniac guard dog/demon of Hades' gate. Because Hugh (you) finds what is going on between Celicia and the narrator repulsive, it is an instance of reverse irony (or irony on top of irony), and because Cerberus only let in those who had sinned and found the path of sin to be okay, he would not let "Hugh" (you) into his kingdom.

OH, and I caught the Mark Twain reference.

Nice, very nice...

This was utterly amazing. You could easily have this published! I have a few things to say...but not much...

Her super voluptuous body and her emanating erogenous scents, oh how I did tremble at her every utterance; and you must surely be thinking this is another love story, but I assure you, dear reader, this story is far from love and close to it all the same. If

ok, I think that instead of 'utterance; and you must' it would sound better as something like '..utterance. You must...'

Hugh were a boy who asked such precarious questions—dangerous questions—and for a long time had suspected not all was well on the homefront. Hugh had a knack, I will admit, for bringing joy to my Cecilia, but that I resented; my Cecilia. Hugh always looked at her, and I could tell Hugh wondered if her walk would be less graceful when she grew up. I could see it in his envious, cherub eyes. I could not take it, and ordered him away, but not before Hugh apologized, “I’m a rude brutal boy, please forgive me.”

Hugh were? How about Hugh was...unless I misunderstood the context. Next thing, try not to use Hugh's name so many times in one paragraph. If you mentioned his name in one sentence, the word 'he' will work in the next.

By the way, do fireflies burn one if they fly into you?

I like this sentence, what he is asking here, at least. But it sounds a bit odd. Maybe use two 'you's or two 'one's.


That's all I have to say. Genius, Brad

I have to agree with Crysi lol. And yes, i finally did get it...after reading the second part.

I don't really have any critique, though if I find any, you'll be informed.

Wow.

I loved all the suspense and mystery. And the view from the antagonist. Very interesting.. Very disturbing, but interesting.

You already addressed what I was going to comment on: The Hugh/you thing, and Cecilia's dialect changing. It's a bit odd, and I'm not sure if readers will understand it fully.. But keep it if that's what you want. Yes, the vocab was a bit intense, and seemingly unnecessary in the first paragraph. Speaking of the first paragraph.. It didn't seem to flow with the rest of the story. I wrote an intro similar to that when I was 11. It seems weak, because you're addressing the audience directly. I don't know.

It was an odd one.. One of the oddest stories I've ever read. But odd isn't bad. I actually liked this story, although the subject matter was a bit.. disturbing, as I have already said. It was well-written though. I really liked your little secrets inserted there. Good job.

Okay, for one, I think Misty and Mouse did a great job of crit. your story, therefore, I have nothing. I do have one thing I want to say: What's with all the big voacb? I mean, they're good for describing or making your story seem more interesting and mature, but don't you want your readers to actually know what the words mean without having to look them up? You don't have to use babyish words or anything, just resonable ones. It seems that you just throw them in there without knowing what they mean or if it makes sense. Just to seem smart or something. I'm new at this, so I don't know exactly how you guys write. (Not at the crit, just this site and crit other people's work on here) Anyways, I think you did a great job, just tone it down on the voacbulary! It floods your story and it sounds boring. Not that your story was like that!
-Mattie*

Finishing it.


“Now, Cecilia, it is important to pray at least twice a day,” what does praying have to do with anything? I cautioned, “you wouldn’t want the gods to snap your fragile bones at school, would you?” She sighed and complacently agreed. But it was not like Cecilia, my Cecilia. It was someone else’s Cecilia. And suddenly I knew what was wrong. I like how possessive he is of her. it's makes it interesting

Later that night, as we slept—as I laid awake, shouldn't it be lay awake? breathing heavy—I awoke and crept from the bed and out the door and down the lawn. The Erminini’s house was dark, and all were asleep, which aided me in my conquest to find Hugh. I ratta-tat-tatted on the door, and no response came. So I jiggled the handle and pushed the door in—not even a creak!—and made my way up the old rickety stairs, till I found where Hugh were sleeping. okay, I was going to say Where Hugh WAS sleeping, but I see now I stared at him. He was a perfect little boy, whose imagination must have run wild at night, keeping him and the beast in his drawers awake for hours on end, that's really perverted. but I guess if that's what you're going for... toying with mental images of my Cecilia. I did not take kindly to competition. HIS Cecilia. He never just says Cecilia, he's always just...I dunno, possessive, for lack of a better word

I stepped into his room and removed the cotton sheath from my boot. He like, just carries this things around in his boots? weirdo... I tied it around his mouth, during which time he awoke and tried to scream, but could not.freaky After a long while, fifteen or even twenty minutes, he quieted, so like, the dude just stands there for like twenty minutes? and it was then that I attempted to remove him from the house. As I was making my way down the stairs, however, I lost my grip of Hugh and he flew and rolled down the stairs, causing a cacophonous, resonating sound all throughout the house. uh oh And shock and dismay did overcome my frail mind when I saw Cecilia oops standing at the doorway, looking in and watching, gaping, as I quickly raced down the stairs and scooped the boy up. I fled with him in my arms, until a long shot rang loud in my ears. Suddenly, time stopped.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. [perfecto. I love the imagery and the...perfectness of it all. This dude is obviously a psycho[/b]

The man of the house, a big, gruff Lowry, waddled down the stairs and demanded, “What the hell is going on here, Mr. Lant Edarybs!?” I quivered under his booming voice [oh, sweet! this big strong dude quivers!!![/b], but turned to face him, nevertheless. I could only stand there and consider what to say, what lie to use, but none came to mind. “Well?…”

“Mr. Erminini, you know, as well as I, that young children have wondrous fantasies, and upon waking, for the superstitious cause of feeling an odd sense about my house, made a path to the basement, whence I saw Hugh and Cecilia playing a love game. oh, so that's what it is. a love game...right With a great haste, you understand, I did not want my Cecilia tainted with anyone’s shuck, I brought your boy back to you.”

“Why then the cloth around his mouth?”

“My Cecilia, you see, she is a dominant little girl, and it would appear Hugh fell to her clutches.” and like, Hugh doesn't say anything about the BIG FAT LIE? believable...

“I see.” Lowry nodded and yanked the boy from my arms, sending him back to his room and shaking his head in disbelief. “I guess we’re all perverts,” he said, as he went back to his room. and his dad didn't even get mad. and hugh didn't do ANYTHING?

Cecilia and I left the house, quiet, with nothing to say. “What bid you come to that house, Cecilia?” I asked. She only looked down and kept walking, but her walk had lost the appeal it once had, and I did not know why. For many a week after the incident, our love had grown soft and the candle flickered and eventually died between us, and my envy for Hugh and all the secrets Cecilia had surely divulged with him grew more monolithic day by day. It was a most disturbing thought to envy a boy of fourteen, but what is there to do when he has taken the love of your life and rearranged her so you do not even begin to recognize who she is? Yes, indeed, over those few weeks she became a normal little girl, one who slept in her own bed and rarely said much to her father, for fear of being reprimanded. I knew something had to be done—I had to reclaim my Cecilia. or maybe he shoudl leave her along! pervert...

For four days, I did not sleep; I watched Cecilia’s every movement in the night, making sure to notice when she left the window and met with Hugh. It was the same time, every night, and about a week later, during their interval of copulation (I was sure of it!), I burst into the basement, and caught them drawing pictures. she goes out every night and draws pictures? oh my goodness...what a freak

“HA!” I shrieked ha? HA? he's a nutcase! and snatched Hugh off your feet, off my feet, eh? shaking you and shoving you against the abrasive wall. Cecilia stood and screamed, which would attract attention, so I quickly grabbed her and gagged her with the cloth I had used on Hugh; she tried to escape, but I knocked her to the ground with a powerful blow to her bosom. OW! Hugh was maybe you should be more consistant and say Hugh were terrified and exasperated, out of breath as he rest rested, you mean? or is that yet another hidden message? against the wall. I twirled around and grabbed a glass bottle of wine and smashed it upon his head and watched as he fell unconscious. !!!!! I hate this part! THAT STUPID DAD!

“You are a sickening little girl!” I screamed to Cecilia, oh yeah, she's the sick one“You make my blood curdle with your lack of respect for your father! Who do you think you are?” I grabbed her tanned, brown arm, hairless, and pulled her up so her eyes were nearer to mine. She stared, tears forming in her effaced eyes.

“Father, I love you! I love you!” She yelled and yelled these three words over and over, but every time they shattered against the walls of the cellar I knew they were fake. good imagery,like, perfect I slapped her and shoved the cloth back down her throat, then turned my attention to the boy, who was still lying there, but slowly regaining conscious.

As reality sunk in and I began to realize they were not truly romancing but merely drawing, I had to find a justification for my actions. So I shook Hugh awake and made you pronounce his own name. Then I quickly stripped him of his clothes and ordered Cecilia undress herself. She hesitated, but then went on. I could see the excitement building in Hugh, and the pent-up anger inside my body spewed from every opening in me. I flung you to the other wall, leaving Hugh dazed and confused. yes, you confuse me. Why the, making you pronounce his own name thing?

“Cecilia is mine! My Cecilia!” omg I could totally imagine a freaky psycho screaming in the cellar I grabbed him and shoved him into a rack of wine bottles, successfully impaling him and causing blood to flow freely from his trembling lips. omg At last I was satisfied. I knew I had reached what I needed, to see my competition eradicated filled me with insurmountable glee and I knew, I knew that I had won this war between you and me. I had been victorious, and you had lost, grumbling and flickering into and out of consciousness until your last, gasping breath. Oh how I did rejoice. blah...oh...so sad....oh my...

“Help! Somebody help!” My eyes dilated in that sudden explosion of horror and the realization that I had lost Cecilia. did she scream or him?My entire body convulsed in the cellar for a long time, until I saw her enter with them—them, the filthy police who think they are above mortality. Even their eyes had glimpsed over my Cecilia, who had run away from me, at one point, and clenched onto this boy for support. She should have known! Oh, had only she known I was the answer! Why didn't she see that I could have given her everything she ever wanted? or maybe she didn't want it!

The cops quickly surrounded me, and I heard Cecilia whimpering as she saw her teenage idol bloodied and gored on red wine, and the thick blood that rolled down his fleshy body. She saw it, and saw me, and for the first time, we connected. he got what he deserved.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Ding.

strong ending. weird story. good job, mr. subliminal message man.

Gracias.

As I explained to Misty, "Hugh were" and then switching it to "you" and "your" in the end is a homonym/annagramatical trick. If read aloud, "Hugh" almost sounds like "you." See, the point here was to say that "Hugh," as in you, find what the narrator does as repugnant. Which you do? See, you even say "nasty." Well, both of you say it, actually. It's a callusion of reverse irony and homonyms! The joy!

The switching of tenses so frequently is to emphasize inconsistencies in the narrator's story. Without them, he would be an intellectual giant, just pedophillic. However, that was not the aim for the narrator; the aim was to make the narrator unreliable. Notice how the story changes? What words Cecilia uses the first time he leaves the shed and the action he takes on Hugh compared to the second? This is to insist that he is also delusional, to some extent, painting himself as Casanova-like and impressing her the second time, while only disappointing her the first.

The narrator tells us that the key is under a bird's nest, but this does not necessarily mean the character knows it, if that makes any sense. This story was written in a 2nd person perspective, so it is ambiguous as to whether or not, at certain times, the narrator is the main character or some observer, like Hugh. The ambiguity of that was to engage the reader in an active thought process of "Is this real" or "Is this believable?" which all stems back to having an unreliable narrator.

The long sentences purvey a sense of rambling to the reader, but more importantly, they are used to mock the reader, and overall, I feel it works. Most other persons who have read it think they are clunky, but it is also the reason why they kept reading.

The "assured" up at the top, however, is only a typo and will be changed.

Thank you both for the critiques, though! And I hoped this kind of explained some of the confusion you might have had about the poem.

In response to the hopeless plug left in my message box, yes, I do critique stories, I just haven't been doing it on this site because I'm having so much fun running amock in the poetry forum. I figured I'd never leave the comp if I tried to both things. I've also isolated myself mostly to the Dramatic poetry, if you haven't noticed. But if you ever want me to read over a specific story of yours, just ask me, and I'd be happy to. I might have to ask you to read some of mine, though. If I ever post them.

Her super voluptuous body and her emanating erogenous scents, oh how I did tremble at her every utterance; and you must surely be thinking this is another love story, but I assured you, dear reader, this story is far from love and close to it all the same.

She stood behind me—I was in the shed behind the lilacs, looking for a key that had been displaced and covered by a bird’s nest—and played with her little fingers; Hugh, a neighbor boy, came up and started chatting with my Cecilia, and upon hearing his prepubescent voice and their laughter echoing back and forth between the old, rickety wood that comprised the shed, my blood began to boil. Quickly, I turned and walked out and slowly attempted to send him on his way.

Hugh were a boy who asked such precarious questions—dangerous questions—and for a long time had suspected not all was well on the homefront. Hugh had a knack, I will admit, for bringing joy to my Cecilia, but that I resented; my Cecilia. Hugh always looked at her, and I could tell Hugh wondered if her walk would be less graceful when she grew up. I could see it in his envious, cherub eyes. I could not take it, and ordered him away, but not before Hugh apologized, “I’m a rude brutal boy, please forgive me.”

“HA!” I shrieked and snatched Hugh off your feet, shaking you and shoving you against the abrasive wall. Cecilia stood and screamed, which would attract attention, so I quickly grabbed her and gagged her with the cloth I had used on Hugh; she tried to escape, but I knocked her to the ground with a powerful blow to her bosom. Hugh was terrified and exasperated, out of breath as he rest against the wall. I twirled around and grabbed a glass bottle of wine and smashed it upon his head and watched as he fell unconscious.

oh wow. That was the most crazy-nasty story I've ever read, but it made me want to keep on reading from the point I found out he was her father on. Wow...

kk, I'll attempt crit.

At first sight, we were fit. A couple in a lost paradise, who commingled, granoblastically and organically, (Organically suited for each other? I think you should take out organically and granoblastically, and leave it at that) perfectly suited for the other. Her super voluptuous body (those words don't sound good next to each other) and her emanating erogenous scents, oh how I did tremble at her every utterance; and you must surely be thinking this is another love story, but I assured you, dear reader, this story is far from love and close to it all the same. If you attempt to find a motive in this narrative, you will be prosecuted; *??? How are you going to prosecute me for reading your story and finding motive??**if you attempt to find a moral in it, you will be banished; ** Again, how do you think you're going to banish me??* ifyou attempt to find a plot in all of this, you will be glorified. *how so?*

*Basically, I don't like this paragraph because it is a really weak, confusing opening. At first sight? She was only a baby It seems like you just took all the huge words out of the dictionary you could, and like, stuck them in here*


She stood behind me—I was in the shed behind the lilacs, looking for a key that had been displaced and covered by a bird’s nest—and played with her little fingers; Hugh, a neighbor boy, came up and started chatting with my Cecilia, and upon hearing his prepubescent *huge word, doesn't flow* voice and their laughter echoing back and forth between the old, rickety wood that comprised the shed, my blood began to boil. Quickly, I turned and walked out and slowly attempted to send him on his way.

Hugh were *was* a boy who asked such precarious questions—dangerous questions—and for a long time had suspected not all was well on the homefront. Hugh had a knack, I will admit, for bringing joy to my Cecilia, but that I resented; my Cecilia *You say My Cecilia twice in one sentence*. Hugh always looked at her, and I could tell Hugh wondered if her walk would be less graceful when she grew up. I could see it in his envious, cherub eyes *Cherub? He's a cherub? And why is he envious of her FATHER?* . I could not take it, and ordered him away, but not before Hugh apologized, “I’m a rude brutal boy, please forgive me.” *doesn't make sense....he's allowed to like, TALK to her, you'd think*

He would walk away and not glance back, but I knew, late at night, while I was reading, Cecilia would incline her head without looking back—in token of partial reconciliation—and show Hugh two study hooks passed into iron rings on two tulips-tree trunks, between which, before she was born, another girl, also Cecilia, her mother’s sister, used to sling a hammock in which she slept in midsummer when the nights became really sultry—this was the latitude of Beaumont, after all.
*I am left honestly confused by this part. I'm your age, but I don't have your vocabulary. If you want to explain this, please do so I can be less...confused. Like, how many Cecilia's are there*


“A splendid idea,” Hugh would say, “By the way, do fireflies burn one if they fly into you? I’m just asking. Just a city boy’s silly question.” Oh how he made my blood curdle and inescapable shrieks metastasize deep down in my core; charming Cecilia was my job—she was my Cecilia. *The possessiveness is really awesome but I wish it was like, a seventeen year old charming her* But the tortuous brat did not leave, and I feared something must be done. I am sure, on many occasions, that Cecilia would show him where the hammock—a whole set of hammocks, a canvas sack full of strong, soft nets—was stored: this was in the corner of a basement toolroom behind the lilacs and the old shoddy shed, where the key had been concealed last year by the nest of a bird—no need to point it out—and quickly string it up, and lay there, discussing their puerile dreams and fondling each other, softly, in the dark. *kind of a cute picture...* Had I only walked out and observed this unsightly boy’s endearment of my Cecilia, Hugh would know and feel and fear my wrath, if Hugh do not already know it.

Still, the warmth of summer nights, and the cotton sheets that lined my Procrustean bed, forced Cecilia to sweat in her tender, venereal torpidity; some nights, when I was feeling especially incensed by her salacious voice and eloquent movements (which were quite often, I admit), we would play games in the bed—games such as Pinocchio and Say Your Prayers—games which I will spare you, my reader, and any child whose eyes have not seen fourteen years of age pass into irrelevance, the explicitly carnal details of. *they play games in bed...all right, that's a nice development, I like it...sounds kind of sick though...*

You must understand, that my Cecilia, she was a mere thirteen years of age, and I, being her only living Cerberus, so to say, was graced with her presence and had been for two long, full years. *Freaking crimany!!!!!! that's so AWFUL!*How I remember my body quaking the first night upon her arrival, watching her dress and undress, *pervert?* kissing her goodnight, and holding her frequently in my arms, singing to her a soft interlude to make her stop crying. *Oh my gosh, he's a PSYCHO! Good job though, it's well written.* But those days had passed, and now, Cecilia, she has *you're making it present tense when it should be past* grown somewhat uncontrollable in her moods and her compassion for me; she sees fit to talk to Hugh at all times possible, even in the hours long which before she should have found herself asleep in my bed. I knew, though; I could hear her pseudo-breathing at night, trying to replicate and fool me into thinking she had fallen asleep. *okay...very good development. sort of sick*

On one occasion, upon her matriculation from the schoolhouse back to my home, she queried: “Deah fatheh, the otheh gulls in my class, they do not thleep with they fathehs, why I do?” * so why does she talk like that?*

I quickly slapped her down *Omg...he BEATS HER TOO??* for her insolence and told her, “Their fathers are—these men, Cecilia, they are accorded no respect among the neighborhood, as my good deeds and reputable actions have; for why would you wish me such ill-will?”

Upon realizing her own idiocy, she recanted her statement and promised to “be better gull”. I would smile, and bend to pat her on her head, and send her on her way to do her homework, in the balcony, where her mother had once looked down and saw roses growing, between the two tulips-tree trunks and the house, smiled, and then pondered, sempiternal it was for that woman, whether a recrudescence of weaving or knitting would be better, than, of course, her current occupation, that of a seamstress. *looooong sentence. Good development though* Still, Cecilia’s mother had loved me, with a great, fiery passion (And who could blame her? After all, I was a pulchritudinous man, and any woman would be glad to display me on their shelf, next to their child’s trophies and pictures of their parents), but since the conception of my Cecilia and until the time of Older Cecilia’s untimely death, I spent my time mulling, torn between two sirens, one young, one old, and knew that time would tell, eventually, which one was ripe for the taking. *oh.....nasty....very well written though*

How nature can fill a man with a redolent joy that slithers down his entire body; *AHHHHH!!!!! He's so EVIL!!!!* the day Older Cecilia passed into death, I dressed the way a mourning man should, and lent my body to the funeral services, but I shed not one tear, which the attendants had brushed off as shocked reaction to the stabbing of my wife in our bed, while I never heard a thing and slept. *Right, yeah THAT'S really realistic!!!*Lucky, I was, that none had asked why only take the life of the woman, when the man’s fortune would obviously overwhelm hers, but no such idiots blundered into the question, and had they asked, I would have began pseudo-hyperventilating, as though they had struck a chord deep within my soul, and they would nod and walk off, leaving me with their empathy. Such was the way Old Cecilia died.

At first, I vacillated in my decision to lust after my Cecilia, fearful the gods would smite me, but then decided if the gods would smite me, they would have already done so, for thinking of the very act would warrant their anger. I digress. *You should say, But I digress. I think that flows better*

So let me begin this story once more, Hugh and Cecilia stood behind me, and as I returned from my inspection of the shed, I slapped the boy down *Okay, this man slaps a lot of people down. Does that mean he slaps the people so hard they fall to the ground or what? It's a bit confusing* like a hungry, begging dog, and sent him on his way. Cecilia’s beaming cherub eyes thanked me, for they did not like to be defiled by little boys. *I doubt it! What a whack job!* “Why, how thoughtful of you, father,” she said. *Excuse me? She talks in that weird voice like, "Deah Fathah" So this confuses me.* I smiled and kissed her forehead, already feeling the dance roaring in my trousers, flaring up like a bonfire in the night. *THat is SO sick! You are TWISTED! well written, though*She noticed, and we left Hugh on the grass, rubbing his scratches and grumbling to himself, for the boudoir, a windowed room that had once brimmed with the sensual sounds of Old Cecilia and my stalwart body.

Cecilia smiled, and did cause much pleasure, her comely physique gyrating on my body—I could hear her screams, screams of extreme pleasure and extreme pain, amalgamating to form a zaftig thirteen year old girl, whom my mind could play many a trick on. *That is so sick! so sick...soooooooo sick. And extremely well written*

Tick. Tock.

When we were done, I sent her out to play, *YOu SEE! YOU SEE! He knows she's a little girl! First he screws her then he sends her out to play!!!!!! EW!* wiping small flecks of white hardened goo from the wide, smiling orifice on her face, and I, myself, went to shower and cleanse myself of whatever guilt I may have procured during our coition. It was a warm night, that night, and one in which my Cecilia was feeling restless. I could tell she had been talking to Hugh, most likely about me and my perverse nature. I asked her, on several occasions, what was bothering her, but she said nothing and turned on her side to sleep.

The next day, she returned from school, and I, as always, stood at the corner waiting on her arrival. She showed up late, and I quickly scolded her for her lack of punctuality, for which she apologized. Then a strange thing happened; she turned to me, grabbed my sweaty, hairy arm, and stared into my eyes.

“Fatheh, why we do what we do? Why we play those games?” she penetrated my mind; she had finally blustered her way into the question I had not formulated a response to, but before I could blurt out an answer, she continued, “The other girls, fatheh, they no sleep and play games, fatheh, they go play with boys, why I not do that fatheh? Why I be—” *EW!*



Sorry, I have to go to class. I'll finish this later. [/i]