… My father comes crashing through; his arms flinging, the knife in his hand gleaming. Time slows; volume diminishes.
I back up, and find my back at a wall. I watch in despair and grief as my father, a man I have loved, trusted, been supported by, comes at me with this killing weapon. I see Anna’s face, wide in shock, and I wish I could console her. But there’s nothing left for me to give.
I see the knife, and it comes at me, almost calmly. Instead of angry rude fingers, probing my insides, I feel a soft gentle caress. As darkness overwhelms my vision, I see my father’s eyes once more. This time, they are calm, serious. They know what they are doing, and they will not stop.
I wake to the sound of my screams.