Lay'D Bibo

When I was about six, while my mother and I were still living in Colorado, you grabbed me walking home from the playground and took me to a hotel or motel room. I assume the purpose was to be able to take your time with me because you did.

You spent several hours building up to raping me; fondling and licking me, fingering and grinding on my body. By the time you did rape me, I couldn’t cry anymore until you forced yourself into me and it felt like my entire body would tear up the middle. I started to scream and you crushed my face with your shoulder. I thought you were killing me and I would be dead any second, the pain was so intense. There was no way I could hurt so much, feel such sharp pain exploding through my hips, belly and ribs into my chest and survive. So I sobbed and waited to die. My cries echoed around my head as though they were coming from somewhere else and it seemed at the same time, I was also behind us and I could see your back, moving against me. You covered my body almost completely except where my legs protruded from yours. After awhile, you convulsed and cried out, driving into me harder than ever. Then it was over and I was still alive and though I couldn’t breathe with you collapsed on top of me, the pain lessened because you stopped moving. I was covered in your sweat and wracked with chills when you withdrew, my teeth chattering as you stared at me.

Your face seemed consumed with an awful nothingness and I thought you were disappointed, even angry, that you didn’t kill me as you held out your hand and said to get up. You quickly grew impatient when I didn’t take it and angrily snatched my hand with yours, yanking me to my feet. My knees buckled but you yanked me back up and pulled me to the bathroom by my arm. You pushed me into the shower and turned the water on, telling me to wash myself. I stood there crying and you told me sternly to do it or you would hurt me again. So I did, but faltered as I soaped myself because it burned in the tears you’d left. You reached into the shower and handling me roughly while I cried, finished washing me and pulled me out of the shower. As you sat me on the toilet to dry me off, you were hard again and tried to put it in my mouth but I was still too small so you forced me back to the bed and raped me again. After a second shower without incident, you drove me back to my complex and left me there to walk home. My idiot mother never called the police or took me to a doctor, she just gave me some weird cream I have never seen again, when I told her I was hurting between my legs.

You think I should feel compassion, that after 40 years of causing misery, of hauling yourself upright on the backs of countless innocent children, that you deserve sympathy for your eventual death as the result of your own gluttony? Just kill yourself. Put your gun in your fat fucking mouth and pull the trigger.