Rape Whistle
by
Robyn Bashaw
The problem with a whistle is you always want to blow it. You can be aware that Mom gave it to you only in case of rape, but it’ll still be a major temptation hanging around your neck.
That’s why you put it to your lips, just to see how it’d feel, cold and metallic against your teeth. Maybe it wasn’t completely accidental that a puff of air escaped into it, but you hadn’t known it would be so shrill.
Like you hadn’t known, everyone would look out their windows and see you standing not too far from old Mr. Beaner raking his lawn. You couldn’t stop them from coming out and questioning you and him, and you couldn’t help that your throat was too dry to speak.
You’re not sure who pushed him first, but you saw him afterward, bruised and bleeding as he was strapped onto the stretcher. He died on the way, they told you, nothing to worry about. You just want to tell him that you gave in to temptation.
That’s why you put it to your lips, just to see how it’d feel, cold and metallic against your teeth. Maybe it wasn’t completely accidental that a puff of air escaped into it, but you hadn’t known it would be so shrill.
Like you hadn’t known, everyone would look out their windows and see you standing not too far from old Mr. Beaner raking his lawn. You couldn’t stop them from coming out and questioning you and him, and you couldn’t help that your throat was too dry to speak.
You’re not sure who pushed him first, but you saw him afterward, bruised and bleeding as he was strapped onto the stretcher. He died on the way, they told you, nothing to worry about. You just want to tell him that you gave in to temptation.