Daddy Called Me Brave

One breath. Two breaths. Three. My little wooden stag is here with me. His leg is chipped, his paint is gone, but he still sleeps beside me. Daddy said, “My girl is brave.” I say it very softly. One breath, two breaths, hold him tight. Do not cry. Do not fight. Daddy called me brave tonight. The red lady stands by the wood. Mother says my name. Daddy looks down at the ground. Maybe this is just a game. Daddy, come and take my hand. Tell them they have got it wrong. You said I was your brave little girl. You said I was so strong. One breath, two breaths, three breaths, four. Daddy, please, I want my door. I want my bed. I want the light. Daddy, make this stop tonight. The rope is hard around my hands. The sticks are at my feet. I see the men who bowed to you. They will not look at me. I count the clouds. I count the stones. I count so I am not alone. Five and six and seven, eight. Daddy always comes. I wait. Nine. Ten. Daddy does not move. He hears me call. I know he does. He knows my voice. He knows it was me who held his hand at night, me who said he’d win the fight. Daddy said that I was brave. Daddy will not come to save. I do not want a crown or song. I do not care who wins. I want my toy. I want my room. I want my dad again. One breath. Two breaths. I lose three. My little stag, please look at me. Daddy called me brave before. But brave girls still get scared. Daddy, I am eleven years old. Daddy... You just stand there. No more counting. Hold him tight. Daddy called me brave tonight.