Tramp the Dirt Down

I look down into the open grave, resisting the urge to spit on the polished mahogany coffin.

Inside that box, lie the remains of my stepfather -- the man who destroyed my childhood.

It's been 30 years since I was the helpless 14-year-old girl that he tortured and tormented, but standing here brings back those old feelings, and it's all I can do not to run and hide. Instead, I channel my fear and pain into anger, as I've done so many times.

Then I turn and calmly walk away, vowing that nothing of him will ever touch my life again.