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I Dare You
Grace Wang
Isobelle Carmody Award
for Creative Writing
Runner-Up
The door slammed shut. Everything in the room seemed to shrink
away from the entryway, awaiting the presence of
him
, waiting for his
polished shoes to slice through the calm, peaceful atmosphere. I was
a statue at the kitchen table, arms balanced, legs crossed, pencil
poised for writing, not even a breath daring to escape my lips as he
walked into the room, footsteps calm and steady, perfectly normal
footsteps. He dropped his briefcase onto the floor, a natural and
ordinary action, perfectly normal in every way. He walked to the
kettle and filled it with water before flicking the machine into action,
perfectly normal. The scene appeared to be mundane, his every
movement was typical and average, his behaviour was nothing special,
nothing to be noted, but as I sat there and as he placed a teabag into
a mug, there was such an immense amount of anticipation and fear
collected in the room, it was pressing into me, forcing my body to
remain perfectly still, blocking my airways and my mind. I knew he
could feel it too.
Ding. ding. ding. The phone vibrated and blared its happy tune.
He walked out of the room and soon, an explosion of yelling and
cursing ensued. This routine was repeated like a dance sequence
everyday. I knew who was on the line. I knew what happened every
time my mother called. Almost immediately, yells of ‘When are you
coming home you useless woman?’ and ‘Your daughter is just like
you!’ bounced off the ceiling and walls to reach my ears. I cowered as
he dropped the receiver with a loud clang and stormed into the
room, his face red with barely contained fury as his eyes dart wildly
to my face. ‘You,’ he spat. I flinched at his voice. ‘Upstairs. Now.’
I dropped my pen and it slid off the table soundlessly as I scurried
up the stairs and into my room. His feet pounded after me, each step
echoing with rage and madness. Before my body registered his
presence, a slap was delivered to my face. No sound escaped frommy
lips as tears streamed down my face in a steady waterfall. The room
blurred around me into a muddle of colour and pain. I crawled
towards the doorway frantically, only to see his face, inches from
mine. ‘Running away?’ he snarled, his face contorted into a mask of
disgust. ‘Go on,’ he said, smirking, ‘I dare you.’ He dragged me by my
hair as I desperately attempted to escape his vice-like grip. He
delivered blow after blow, all whilst yelling obscenities and cursing
my mother and I to hell.
And abruptly, I felt water. Water in my eyes. Water in my nose.
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