Editor’s Note: The following piece contains graphic, sexually violent content that may be triggering for some readers. Please proceed at your own discretion.
I am in a room with you. You are Faceless,
I don’t know why. Just this blur
in my memory. I wasn’t looking
at your face when it happened. I am the girl
looking down on the girl. I float above you. I float
on the ceiling. I think,
you had nails. You had fingers. You had hands
around my arm, on my sweater, the metal
zipper.
Your fingers. Where are my fingers
in this? You rape me? You raped
who I was. You shove me
into the corner of the room. I bend from you. I bend
from this scene, looking down,
my body buckling onto the floor. I don’t know why
it is like this. I am snotting
all over myself. You say,
by god, she’s snotting all over herself. You pry
at my clothes. I moan. Moan. Somewhere,
my hand pushes away at you. I say please
please stop. You don’t stop. This is what I hear. I don’t know why,
if it’s real, if it’s a haunting
soundtrack that goes
No no no please stop. You won’t stop. I float. I am
a blanket. I am a shield for Little Girl
in the corner. No no no
please stop. The soundtrack
screams. The soundtrack
screams louder and
I am a snake. I cannot shed
my skin.
Rachel Litchman is a high school senior at Interlochen Arts Academy. Her poetry and prose have been recognized by the Glimmer Train Press Short Story Award for New Writers, National Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, and the Luminarts Cultural Foundation. Writing has helped give her experiences a name even though she still struggles to define what happened.
