check it...

This piece doesn't have a name or anything...it just sort of came into my head a few days ago...it's not that great, but it's of roughly the same topic as the other bits that i've been writing or have written lately.
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Her wrists, so delicate, but they are bruised so. Thick deep purple briuses caused by a hard grab. "The man", she told me.

She came home from kindergarten crying - I could hear her all the way up the garden path. She wasn't crying tears of a skinned knee. She was crying tears of stolen innocence.

"The man" - a neighbour of ours. To me, he always seemed harmless. I guess I was wrong. He grabbed her and hugged her. Stroked her hair and touched her whee no five year old should be touched. She started crying and he grabbed her by the wrists. He squeezed her wrists hard when she didn't smile when he asked, "can't you give us a smile, gorgeous?"

She struggled away and ran home sobbing her little heart out.

My beautiful daughter. Five perfect years where no harm came to her, but this time..There was nothing I could do.

I feel so responsible.