oh what is it now? footsteps fast and heavy up the stairs. blood in the basement, there’ll be tears before bedtime someone jokes and they laugh but then she’s in the kitchen and everyone stops, christ she’s only got a dart through her little hand, the other one holding it out by the wrist towards them, wailing. shut up someone says tenderly, let me look. how’d you manage that then, hey, trouble? but the child can’t speak for sobbing. you got to pull it out in one go, leave a clean wound. a clean wound, what’s that, i never met one in my life, they’re all raggedy at the edges and they don’t heal but scar. through her tears, the child thinks: i will have a star, and still weeping, face swollen and snotted up, chest shuddering, she smiles thinking: my star, mine.