child of stone pris campbell Only a shadow, head pressed against the far closet wall, pigtails tickling my bare shoulders, I listened to the whack of grandfather's cane against grandmother's back, the thump when she finally fell to the floor, her pleas for mercy... It was the last time she tried to save me from his pawing and thrusting, his hands slowly peeling away layers of my childhood. I imagined myself donning a Superman cape, bursting from my safe place to carry her to where no beatings could follow. She went there, herself, ten years later. I still think hearing her cry was harder than just letting him try to fuck me. By five, you see, I already knew how to turn myself into stone, to feel nothing, to hope for nothing.