The Victim

• Sarah Jang, Grade 11, Brisbane State High School
• Short Story
• 2015

Excellence Award in the 'Read Write Repeat 2015' competition

A girl was sitting in a shabby old wardrobe for hours and hours, or maybe a day. The dim light that permeated around her had gone, leaving her with obnoxious darkness. The wardrobe was her refuge, but also a prison as she could not go outside. She would not be able to bear the consequences if he saw her again. He would not whip her with his leather belt like usual. This time, he would actually kill her.

She lowered her gaze and blankly stared at her bloodied hand – where a cold iron knife had brutally penetrated through her soft flesh. Fortunately, it stopped bleeding before she lost too much blood but her body was mutely screaming in agony. Her throat begged for a sip of water. She was certain that she was going to faint. However, she was conscious; every cell in her body fully awoke, alert.

Nothing seemed to make her miserable life better. Nothing, nothing, nothing. She was weak; hated by everyone. She was strongly reminiscent of her mother, who ran away on one of the countless nights when she got beaten up by him. That was probably why she was despised by him; the god, the tyrant and the monster of the household.

Hours passed. The nigritude blanketed her eyes, almost to the point that it was comforting. She finally realised how soothing it was to be in the dark. Her mother’s old clothes hanging above gently brushed the tip of her head, as if they were reassuring her that everything will be alright. Like a foetus in a womb, she crouched down her tiny body. Her eyelids slowly closed. The peaceful quietness was singing her a silent lullaby.

She woke up as she heard a creaking noise from the door. Blunt footsteps violently trampled all over on her eardrums. A flash of light, piercing through cracks of the wardrobe blinded her. She ferociously blinked a few times until she could finally see who was outside. It’s him! She blocked her mouth as she gasped, desperately trying not to slip any sound.

Her heart was violently pounding like an angry rodeo bull. She could taste metal mixed with sweat from her hand and had the urge of throwing up whatever was left inside the stomach. However, she couldn’t- her eyes were busy glaring at his every move with vigilance. He was obviously drunk; he was holding an almost finished bottle of whisky on one hand and a flashlight on the other. Perhaps he knew where she was, and came to finish her off……

He collapsed on the bed in front of the wardrobe. He was too close from her; she could see his filthy feet dirtying the bed. He soon fell into sleep, and his loud snores filled the entire room. She knew from the experience that he would not wake up very easily.

Cautiously, she picked up the bloody knife lying next to her. She craved for freedom… and she knew exactly what to do.