He took his shirt off and leapt on top of her and started ripping her clothes off. I ran to try to push him off of her, but he delivered a punch to me like he never had before. It sent me crashing into the wall and I slid down. I managed to get back up in time to see Andrea pummeling him with her purse, trying to get him off my mother. He pushed her away twice, and when she ran up to him for a third time, the unthinkable happened. He got up and punched her in the head as hard as he could. She went stumbling and he then grabbed her and threw her on the bed and started trying to rape her. And a moment later, it happened. I started having flashbacks from the past ten years of my life. My life was flashing before my eyes as if I were about to die. I saw once again, all the beatings, the whippings, the torture, the pain, the suffering. They were coming back to me faster than a bullet. And then, seeing what was before me in real life, my dad, trying to rape the girl that I. Her eyes must be open. She wouldn’t create a dream of various shades of khaki if her eyes were closed. The walls were a light khaki. The blanket was a darker khaki. The ceiling was . . . well it was sort of white. Those spongy tiles with the holes all over them. Like you would have found in a school or a hospital years ago. A hospital. She felt it now. The pain and the heaviness were coming on in a slow wave. It seemed like her whole left side was weighted down by bandages. Those were white too. So, the whole world wasn’t khaki after all. And the slender silver stand with the bottles and tubing hanging from it at her right side wasn’t khaki either. Wondering where they were going, those tubes. But then thinking that was stupid. They were attached by needles to the veins in her hand and who knew where else? Coming increasingly close to the surface in her fight to get there through the pressure of whatever was holding her back. Hesitating, because there was increasing pain on the left.
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