Lie Dead

15 Apr


Rebecca Mott

This is a long piece about my stepdad.

I will always love this piece of writing, because it cleared my stepdad away into a box.


I feel I’m at a stage in my life when I can write. I only remember in bits. Much of my life is full of gaps. Rape can be blanked out, to lead a “normal” life. I remember events without feelings. Remember feelings without knowing where they come from. I will remember as clear as I can inside gaps and silences.


I am drunk at a party. Round me others are chatting about sex. There is calm, sarcastic laughter. A voice said –

“Hole so small – like a 6-year-old.”

I freeze. Don’t show you’re scared. I try laughing, but my throat jams. Now it appears everything I hear is about child sex. I’m shaking.

“Shut up. You don’t know what you’re…

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