Dark.

I don’t know that word, but I must communicate.

I am afraid of the dark. I don’t know that word “afraid” either, but the story will go on as though I am literate. I am afraid of the dark, and the night, and of being alone.

They leave me in a cage that has no top. The cage is in their room. I know because I hear their breathing. I smell their body soap. They are near, yet far away. Are they angry with me?

A dim sheen of light seeps in through a nearby window, but it only makes the shadows spooky. There is comfort beneath me, and warmth around me. But I am alone, and the light is far from being enough. I cry out my fear.

It is the big one that comes to me, the one they call “da”. His hands are huge, larger even than my chest. When he lifts my arm and holds out my hand to touch it, I stop crying. I smile.

“Ooowwww.” It hurts. Sometimes he hits my hand. I don’t know why. It is a strange manner of touching. Now he shakes me, and roars in the thunder tone. I am very quiet. At least he is near. I am no longer alone in the dark.

But he won’t stay. He never does. Before leaving, his thunder softens. He tucks the covers back around my sides and neck.

I am afraid of the dark. I don’t want to be alone. I cry out my fear.

When he returns, his thunder is awesome. He no longer touches my hand. But he pulls the cover back and roles me over. It is a joy to feel his presence.

He roars and makes mighty sounds as he suddenly pounds his big hands against my backside. He strikes hard. It jars my teeth, shakes my insides. Perhaps he thinks the diaper keeps me from feeling his touch. I go quiet and remain so. He scares me, so big, so loud. But at least I am not alone.

But it doesn’t last. Before I can find sleep, he is gone.

My side is hurting. Something is bruised. I don’t know what’s wrong. And I’m still afraid. I need someone to touch me, comfort me. I cry out my fear.

The cage is moving. I feel it, but I can also see the shadows on the ceiling shifting. Ah. There. His hand is on the bars. I sense that I am closer to where he sleeps.

The hand comes through between the bars. With one finger, he touches my cheek. Oh, it feels so good. I smile. Then his hand goes still, not moving and touching and striking, but rather resting near me on the mattress. The fear fades. The comfort comes. I begin to drift off into sleep.

How did he come to understand my need?

End

http://www.associatedcontent.com/user/702671/rmharrington.html