The following piece has trigger warnings for sexual abuse, incest, pedophilia and violence.
sun spit tastes like…
By Yuki Iwama
With artwork by Romy Durrant
she doesn’t have a face, so she sits in the room with a sheet over her head. Daddy’s built a sky for her and nailed in each blade of grass. only the best. only the best for my little girl. the sun hangs from the light fixture. does the sun spin? yeah and it spits. it spits so much it spits up acid. isn’t it beautiful? i wonder what sun spit tastes like. it tastes like…
when she’s happy, she pulls off the sheet and pedals in the air. she likes her legs: smooth, curved; sexy. if people looked at legs first, they would find her beautiful.
she wears mini-skirts and bras and marches around the room, glancing at the window. there’s my reflection. don’t i look hot? don’t i look gaw-juss? don’t i look FUCKABLE? she does. she knows she does. even if she really is disfigured,. abnormal. sometimes a monster and a little shit and a good-for-nothing bitchcuntslut
– just like Mummy.
Mummy, Mummy, Mummy hated her face. Daddy said it wasn’t good enough.
slap some colour on those blue lips. fatten up those tits. shave that pussy bald. i want to fuck a little girl.
too fat. too big. too much space. Mummy liked to spread her legs. Mummy liked her rolls. don’t i look hot? don’t i look gaw-juss? don’t i look FUCKABLE?
but he feels dirty when he fucks her. she smells like cunt:. fish. strong. sharp. bold. her cunt is too here. too loud. he feels dirty. he feels dirty.
she doesn’t have a face, but her tits are growing in:. small, . bulbous, . pink. they look so scared. like eyes, wide shock. she jumps but they don’t jiggle. like they’re supposed to. too small. too small. not sexy yet. young. just wrong the nails are coming up;. worms in the rain. but it’s just sweat. Her toes are ripping up the green. Daddy would be mad. Daddy would be mad. fuck Daddy. FUCK DADDY. she’s glistening. panting: YES.
under the sheet, she can see his face. not Daddy’s: a man’s. handsome. brown eyes, aquiline. he’s something like a god, if there was one. or the sun that spins and spits in the patchwork sky. she can imagine his dick – cock. it’s smooth. brown. pink. pretty pink. small and friendly. she draws a face on it and swallows her fingers. under the sheet, there’s no air. and for the first time, she sees her own face.
one time she watched Daddy in the shower. he was he was rubbing himself. shampoo tears. hand a desperate mouth. he ate himself. ate himself, spat out the sun. i wonder what sun spit tastes like? it tastes like…
it’s her thirteenth birthday when she tells him. breath between teeth, a double skip. but her tits itch and her fingers twitch and she knows she has to say it.
i want a man, Daddy.
and he does it. brings the mirror out and stands her in front of it. a flagellation, a rape. look: a handprint on her face. black raised lump, cancer. burn. who would do this for you? who would give you the sky and the grass and the sun?
and he’s touching her face: her no face. giant fingers creeping across the skin where her nose should be. where her lips should be. and then it becomes wrong. shifted. like there’s two mirrors instead of one. but Daddy loves her. Daddy brings the world inside.
when the sun stops spinning and spitting, Daddy’s workshop is waiting.
he’s sprawled on the sheets, naked. likes the feel of cotton on bare skin. there are gears in boxes – spur gears, helical gears, skew gears, bevel gears; spiral, double, in, out, sideways, up-ways, down-ways, all-ways. hammers and prongs and wrenches and screws. twisters, bangers, tappers, the lot. enough for a man. a mechanical man.
i’ll wind you up. one two three. oil the hinges. oil the dick. yours is nothing like Daddy’s dick. you’re pretty, pink, small and friendly. sit and fuck. wrap your mechanical arms around my ass and let me see my face one more time.
when she looks in the window, she feels her hips. her cunt isn’t bald anymore. she can feel tufts of hair and they feel so fragile. so strong. she jumps and her tits jiggle, they laugh, they tremble. she doesn’t have a face, but she’s a woman.
Daddy walks in. sees the man. sees the hairs. fragile. strong. penny pink tits. she takes up space. she’s too big. can’t fit under the sheet anymore.
she catches sun spit on her thighs.
her mechanical man catches fire. and daddy’s got the matches. daddy’s got the matches. and she wishes that she was standing in front of the mirror. she wishes daddy would twist her hair and say, look, there’s nothing there. who would do this for you? who would give you the sky and the grass and the sun?
daddy’s burnt the sky. and each blade of grass. daddy’s burnt the sun. and the mechanical man. . daddy burnt himself. daddy burns himself. and though there are no walls, she stays, and watches.
Yuki Iwama; studying creative writing at RMIT, Melbourne because still at E L James level. Home base is short stories. Stepping into theatre with Mudfest 2015. Also, National Studio 2015 participant. Writing first full lengther: GOD HAS A YELLOW VAGINA. Very bad at titles, like E L James. Influences: Stephen King. David Lynch. Theatre of the Absurd. Intersectional feminism.
Check out the stuffs at yukiiwama.wordpress.com/
Romy Durrant is a writer from Melbourne. Her work has appeared and is forthcoming in The Lifted Brow, Voiceworks Magazine, Scum Mag, The Bohemyth, Shabby Doll House and Electric Cereal. You can find her at @miseryclit / romywiththehomies.tumblr.com.