Moving Finger - Issue 3 - Brunel University

damp and cold beneath me. He’s still kissing me and I wouldn't mind, but his whole body
is pressed right against mine and I don't like it anymore. He’s pinning me down now with
one hand and his body, which is heavy, is squashing me. He’s kissing my neck and his
other hand is no longer on my face. It’s going down and down. He has hold of my nice
skirt and is pulling it up and I can't shout, my voice is gone and I can't move because I am
scared and I want mum, but she’s far away. I hear his zip undo and now he’s grabbed my
hand and is making me touch him there. He’s sighing and breathing deeply. It feels hot
and big and I want to be sick. He lets my hand go and starts feeling my leg. I quietly
begin to cry as his hand moves higher and higher until he's touching my knickers, but he
doesn't notice because he's kissing me again with closed eyes, his creeping fingers are
inside my underwear and still I can't move, but I'm crying and as I cry, I begin to make a
little noise, which, as he starts to probe me with his finger turns into a loud noise, a loud
panicky noise, and he hurts me down there, so I shriek and his body makes a little jump
and it’s then that I try to wriggle out from under him, but he's so heavy and tries to keep
me there, but I manage to get away and I run. I run. I don't dare look back. I wish all that
away to the back of my mind.
I wish things could have been different, but wishing doesn't work. I used to wish it had
all been a dream. I used to pretend it had never happened. I have remembered and am sad
again. The frightened girl's eyes are filling with tears as these words are typed. I haven't
been the frightened girl for five years. I am twenty this September.
Clare Hayhurst
THURSDAY, 8 MARCH
Recovered from mother's latest visit and am now the proud owner of a Marks & Spencer
vest-and-brief set. I think mother refuses to believe I have any sort of a sex life. Can't wait
for Friday. Me and the girls are going out to the cinema. Munched my way through four
Panadol Extra and was told I have my appraisal next week. Had a dinner of steamed
salmon and asparagus, followed by creme brulee, courtesy of Waitrose. Decoded: need a
pet for company, perhaps a cat.
Lucie Perkins
WANDERING
Surrounded by the night sky, I thought how the stars looked like a dot-to-dot puzzle,
waiting to be joined. Even in my drunken state I declined and carried on walking, the
alcohol making me look as if I were plunging through a chlorine-infested swimming pool
rather than a gravel pathway.
Contentedly, I hummed a nondescript tune, sounding like an asthmatic trumpet player,
but not caring. I was alone. The midnight chill had long since numbed my hands and face
and I didn't feel a thing. The taste of lager had begun to feel sour at the back of my throat
as if I'd been sucking on a piece of metal like a lollipop. And then the churning began.
My mouth filled with liquid and I felt like a warhead about to detonate. I stopped
walking. I closed my eyes, even though I had that cottonwood-wrapped-around-my-head
feeling, and began to ride the roller coaster of equilibrium. I considered how unbalanced
Van Gogh must have felt as I swayed like a sapling in a hurricane. My eyes snapped
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