Cenotaph

[Skraal]

The thud of a golf club striking someone in the back. The crash of an ashtray shattering upon impact with a person's head. The hiss of a smouldering cigarette pressed onto bare skin. Shouting. Screaming. Pain.

Those were the fragmented recollections that awoke Yuko Sakaki that night. She sat bolt upright in bed, heart pounding as she glanced around the darkness. Her cold and clammy firsts clutched the bedsheets in a white-knuckled death grip as the wave of panic washed over her, practically suffocating her as she trembled within the confines of her small room, eyes brimming with tears.

Slowly, however, she began to return back to reality. She took a deep breath, then another, forcing herself to remain calm. Her mother's room was next door, and Yuko didn't want to wake her - not like last time. She knew her mother had to get up early for work tomorrow morning, and the last thing either of them needed was for her daughter to interrupt her few precious hours of sleep with another screaming fit.

A beam of moonlight streamed in from the window near her bed, illuminating the room and confirming to her that she was, as expected, alone. Of course, that also was true last time. And the time before. And the time before that. Somehow, the passage of years had done little to dull the painful memories that still continued to cling onto her, digging their claws into her back every moment of the day. Every room of her small family home conjured up its own set of horrible images, a collection of phantoms accumulated through years of suffering.

Yuko sighed, letting go of her sheets and raising an arm to wipe the tears from her eyes. It was several more agonizing seconds before the painful drumbeat in her chest finally began to slow as she sat alone with her thoughts. The cool night air rushed over her face, relaxing her as she sat in silence, listening to the faint cries of cicadas in the distance, rhythmically humming on the breeze.

No matter how often she was reassured that her days of torment were over, that her father was gone and never coming back, the message never really seemed to stick. During the day, perhaps, it was easy enough to distract herself from the thoughts. She had schoolwork to do and friends to spend time with, keeping her mind occupied for most of her waking hours. After the sun went down, however, all of that faded to the wayside, leaving her alone with her memories.

She wondered if things were the same for her mother and brother. The three of them never talked about it, treating the topic like a demon from one of those old stories, as if merely saying its name could conjure up the evil back up from the deepest pits of hell to wreak havoc upon the living once more. Surely, though, they had suffered as much as she had at her father's hands. Perhaps his spectre continued to haunt them as well, its malevolence continuing to press against the cracks in their defences, tainting every happy moment with its lingering poison.

Yuko shook her head, taking a deep breath before laying her head back on her pillow, pulling the covers back up to her neck. Her stomach ached as the anxiety began to eat at her again. There was no way that she'd be able to sleep if she kept that train of thought going. She closed her eyes and turned onto her side, forcibly putting a stop to her pondering. It couldn't be helped that those memories made their presence known yet again, but the last thing she needed was to encourage them of her own accord. There was nothing she could do other than to keep reminding herself again and again until the message finally sunk in:

Nobody was going to hurt her again.