Young Writers Society

i started crying
"one, swallow water, two, swallow water."
i could maybe do twenty-eight or more
in a minute then eject it.
it's all for practise and if black hangs
its curtains, it's just a bonus.

why?
it whispered through the darkness
of after-school bedroom exhaustion.
he never specified. only said
it could be any one of us. in fact, one out of three.
i looked either side of me: janelle and sarah.
one of us, one day, one swerve
in the direction of adamant change
as we shed skin and watch through illicit eyes.

it's not always the guy in the balaclava,
it's the guy with his arm around you at
one am, breathing softly and feeling downright good.
why?
god we look vulnerable, like our
heels are made of cotton.
"It's no good just grabbing any woman - some of them
fight back. I only wanted the ones who came
willingly,
freely."

did you?
you think you can, you think you can't?
you're always right.

heavy nightness devoid of soberity
in a deserted park, shadowed figures
seen by none but the trees and dark's
blanket overhead. it's not cold.
and one thing saved her. a simple
question and remembering his words:
"when no doesn't work, try yes."
and he was like a dog at her feet,
following her back to the party in all his
testosterone-drowned stupidity.

she used her schoolgirl intelligence.
yes, unbelievably, she's a schoolgirl.
the ones who beg and plead and
submit. they follow the script.
sorry.

"it'll never be me." cries, lies, goodbyes.
hot, shut-out light, daytime noises
out the window. and me, apologetic?
it's not fault, sometimes i get unfairly blamed.
i chisel a smile across my face.
pack it all up into a dusty, brown case.
step back in line, in time with the race.

just another sparked-up, shimmering,
hand-on-the-trigger article of date rape.
written: Tuesday 16th November 2004, 6:38pm.