by Aiki Flinthart
Each night it comes for her body, her soul, her perfect youth. Each night the pillow gathers her tears, her screams, her pain; hides the knife she’s too afraid to use.
Each day its face is kind. A good father, they all say. Good man.
Can’t they see the broken soul in her eyes?
Then comes a night marked by absence. By the murmur of voices in her younger sister’s room. A muffled scream.
She vomits relief and self-disgust to the cold floor. She hangs her head.
The captured rage of years erupts.
Knife in hand, she stalks next door.
Aiki has had short stories shortlisted in the Aurealis awards and top-8 listed in the USA Writers of the Future competition, as well as published in various anthologies and e-mags. She has 11 published spec fic novels and has edited 2 short story anthologies. She regularly gives workshops on writing fight scenes at conventions. Lives in Brisbane. Does martial arts, archery, knife throwing and lute-playing. www.aikiflinthart.com