This work of fiction includes graphic depictions of sexual violence that some readers may find distressing.

Heat slices the flesh of my inner thigh; a man’s calloused hand lands to claim the ache.

My eyes flick upward but — just as quickly — the hand is gone. The spot blooms into an angry red under the outline of sprawled fingers. At its centre, a splatter of blood. Flattened, wiry legs spread like a star. Looming over me on Nana’s front porch, Uncle Suka’s lips pull taut. He offers only one word in explanation.

‘Mosquito.’

Humming half-hearted appreciation, my gaze returns to the yard. Peeling my palms from beneath the sweat of my thighs, I rub the raw skin of my eyes dry.

Suka’s chest deflates, huffing. ‘Stop sulking, Ane. She already forgave you. Come back inside.’

I nod, staying quiet. Though his voice is gentler than his words, I refuse to meet his eyes. I follow Nana’s small silhouette on the grass instead. Orange light spills over the yard, deepening her bronze as she works. Thin arms arc skyward, draping ‘ie lavalavas over the laundry line. The shape of her frail hand still stings hot against my cheek.

We’d been in the sitting room when she walked in. Legs strewn lazily over one another, the cousins began our fourth round of sweep. I swept the ace of spades just as Nana barked behind me.

‘Oi, Ane, cover your legs! Your ‘ie is so small, showing everything!’

Giggles encased me, and I dropped my hand, tugging my ‘ie further down my legs. Heat washed my cheeks.

Groaning, ‘Nana, I didn’t even notice—stop.’

Nana clicked her teeth, jumping in front of me to pull the fabric even tighter around my knees.

‘You need to change your ‘ie. You’re too big for this one, Ane!’

My palms raced to shield chubby, red cheeks as the girls’ laughter grew rowdy. Pulse throbbing heavy against my temples, I thrust forward the easiest defense I could.

‘Well, at least I’m not as fat as you.’

Nana’s eyes darkened as swiftly as her hand flew. Laughter died upon contact. I fled to the porch before her hand could swing back, but Nana, carrying her basket of clothes, walked straight through the yard.

Suka snorts now behind me. ‘You know you were being cheeky. You have to respect your elders, Ane.’ My lips curve around a defense before he continues. ‘But if you’re going to be cheeky, try a little harder not to get caught?’

My lip quirks; I nod — Suka is right. I should know better. My jaw unclenches, chin dropping as the front door clatters against its frame. His footsteps grow quieter. I touch my fingers to the bloodied bump on my thigh, pausing at the sight: my nails have already burrowed tracks across the spot. I hate mosquitoes.

I glance back toward Nana one last time. This time, she is already watching me. The wind tosses and tangles her mane to frame deep brown eyes, cutting through the wild grass and into mine. I stand, suddenly unsteady, wiping the sweat of my hands onto my lap. Nana watches me leave.

* 

The three of them sit cross-legged on the floor of Nana’s bedroom.

My cousins’ respective red, blue and yellow ‘ies swathe the whole length of their legs. My eyes fully orbit their sockets as I take my seat beside them. Leaning against the dresser, I yank the fabric further down my icy calves. Their voices grow louder.

‘He likes them young.’

‘He doesn’t care what age they are, stupid! Makua’i pua’a lava!’ He’s a pig.

‘No — young meat is tender!’

My sigh heaves heavy and theatrical, tinged with the understanding that they’ve returned to the same old story: the Nifoloa. Centuries-old hardwood creaks down the hall under heavy passing weight. In the window, the sun dives below the horizon to stain the sky violet.

Nana first told my eldest cousin the myth of the Nifoloa to scare her into obedience. ‘He eats girls with cheeky mouths’, she’d said.

Nana painted the Nifoloa as some wild, overgrown demon of legend with sharp canines and an insatiable hunger for mischief. When his fangs pierced the flesh of the thigh, a deep wound blossomed, rotting into an angry red before succumbing to a festering green. She’d threatened that, when twilight descended, shadows would creep in to drape the puncture in darkness as maggots erupted from the decaying flesh — writhing lines to trace the length of the leg.

While the tale found success in dulling my cousin’s prepubescent attitude, it found its true infamy in terrifying children to follow. My eldest cousin, as she is now, repeats her story to anyone who will listen.

‘He’s real! I swear; I’ve seen him before. He waits until we’re asleep so he can tiptoe down the hall.…’ Throwing up white-knuckled claws, she chomps down roughly on her teeth. ‘Then, he eats the cheeky girls!’

Now, all of our eyes roll. The floorboards down the hall groan louder, their old glue and screws giving way. My other cousins beside us, still older than me, launch their opposition.

‘You’re so dramatic.’

‘Here we go, again.’

My eldest cousin fights valiantly to defend against the onslaught on her integrity. I peek over the windowsill. Nana is no longer in the yard. Save for her hibiscus and teuila, all orange and yellow has vanished. My cousins’ noise could wake the village. Surely, their volume will rouse her temper.

A sudden shadow jerks, disrupting the light under the door. Something stands outside. The squabbling around me rises, taking no notice of the stocky figure behind the door. The room has dimmed considerably, and I squint, my throat lifting on hollow bones, craning. My vision narrows to a point. Just then, the door handle swivels against its plate, and I leap upright.

My back smacks square into Nana’s dresser, its intricate glass knobs kneading apart the discs of my spine. The girls jump, scuttering across the wooden floor with mouths agape. The bottom drawer rolls open, and my left foot swings to kick it shut.

‘What is wrong with you?’

It’s the eldest who shouts as the other two can only stare, locked in confusion. Light floods beneath the door, miraculously free of shadow now. Kneading my hands, I whisper.

‘I’ve seen it too.’

To my right, a chuckle. ‘Ane, what? The Nifoloa?’

I steel my voice. ‘Stop. He was right there’, throwing my finger toward the door. ‘He’s in the house!’

There’s a long, sharp moment of silence, broken by their sudden roar of laughter.

‘She hasn’t seen shit!’ The eldest.

‘Liar!’

Reaching across the group, the eldest tugs at my ‘ie. I grab it back, securing it over my hips as she cackles. ‘Look how short! She just loves the attention.’ Sliding down, swallowed by sound as my back scrapes the dresser, I pray.

They grow louder still. Clutching their stomachs, they fold over. Their bluish silhouettes shudder on every hiccuping laugh. Beyond the door, the slovenly footfall returns in tandem with their laughter. Movement outside catches my eye, and I know for certain. He is here.

Humour peels wider yet, tearing across their cheeks. The mocking red slices from ear to ear, thinning lips breaking to cradle harsh white teeth. Beady eyes narrow to mirror-like slits of black. Beneath us, the house rattles with wheezy exhales. Seated in her belly, we ride the unsteady pulsing; blood rushes to her throat. I dig my nails into the dirt gaps between her floorboards.

His figure begins again to take shape. Two stocky legs, maybe even two more behind him. The light he obscures glows, exalting his mighty outline. The girls’ shoulders are thrown wildly now as the house is rocked. Tears are diving freely to pool in the divots of my collarbone. My palms crash over my ears. This time, they laugh even as the door is thrown open.

Collision marks the wall with a careless thump, in the shadow of a meaty, oversized palm. Spindly fingers stretch outward and crawl, pounding and prodding, for the light switch. When they finally stop, the fluorescence hums on overhead. The room burns white. As light bursts forth, my teeth grind together. My lids fall shut. Dread coils my chest, knotting my scapular — suffocating me.

‘Come downstairs. It’s time to eat.’

It’s gone so quickly I lose my grip, nails slipping to catch and break skin. Peeling my eyes open, my relief leans against the door frame. Suka’s deep eyes soften, landing on mine and wearing fear. Pity.

‘Oi Ane, what happened?’

I scan my cousins’ faces but find no hint of humour. They’ve scattered, abandoning me to my own island. I listen for the house and hear only myself, panting.

Between them, the eldest is frozen. Eyes blown wide, no colour in her cheeks. Her mouth hinges open, and I flush at the unruly reflection in her eyes. The other two girls jump up beside us, and she quickly rights herself to follow suit. Ducking beneath our uncle’s arm, they file out. So low, they mutter:

‘She’s lost it.’

* 

While the rest of the family retreats to sleep, Nana insists that I clean up after dinner. Suka lingers to help.

We move in rhythm; he scrubs each dish of the meal before handing them to me, one by one. I wrap them in a soft towel then place each plate into the drying rack. The clink of porcelain echoes in the still of the kitchen.

‘Are you feeling better?’

Warming with the understanding that he has seen me cry twice today, I inch further down the counter to rearrange the rack. ‘Yep, sorry. Fine now. Don’t worry about it.’

He chuckles. ‘Don’t be embarrassed. Everyone has bad days — even your Nana. You get older, and you learn not to take anything too seriously.’

‘I know.’ I swap out the soaked rag for a dry one. ‘But she’s picking on me.’

Gently, he shakes his head. Correcting. ‘You misunderstand. She takes care of four girls all by herself; that much work would strain even the strongest man. Your Nana is just stressed. She’s probably also having a hard time watching you grow up.’

Slamming the rag down, my knuckles strike like matches onto the counter’s edge. ‘I’m not trying to grow up. This’, I say, tossing my fingers towards my legs, ‘is not my fault. She doesn’t need to tell me off in front of everyone. She doesn’t need to humiliate me!’

Still washing, he cocks his head sideways. ‘Did she really tell you off?’

‘Well.’ I shake off my now bruising wrist. ‘She shouldn’t have hit me.’

He laughs throatily, rinsing off the final dishes and closing the faucet. He grabs another rag to help me finish drying.

‘You have to forgive your Nana.’

At this, Nana’s shadowy room momentarily occupies my mind, and the very image churns my stomach. I whip my head, dizzyingly, side to side. The violence of the movement forces my hair undone. It unravels around me and billows outside my hip.

‘Ane—’

Still attempting to open and close my fist, I snap. ‘I said I was fine.’

He chuffs, once more solemn, as his shoulders climb to his ears. Patting my wrist gently, he unseats the last plate from my hand and stores it on the rack. He slinks around me to hang our rags on the hook before drying his hands on his shirt. Flipping off the kitchen light, he slowly returns to the sink. Bracketing my shoulders, Suka spins me to face him.

‘Will you listen now?’

Pushing out one final, stubborn breath, I look up. His hand, thumb to pinky, spans my shoulder down to my elbow. ‘Fine.’

‘Do you truly believe your Nana meant to hurt you? That she hit you for no reason? No, she didn’t. You are wasting time staying angry, whining. Your Nana forgave you without an apology; won’t you do the same? Can’t you see, this is what holds family together?’

He continues, ‘Family is hard — it will always be hard — but there’s more good than bad. That’s how it works. Holding onto anger only makes the hard parts heavier, and you’ll never get to see those lighter moments. You’ll miss them completely. Never let the sun go down on your anger. Get over it. You need to get over yourself.’

I stare now at the floor, heart pounding and head throbbing. His words hang in the space between us, weighty. Suka’s hand moves to my chin, tilting to meet his eyes.

‘You’re stronger than this. You’ve got your Nana’s spirit, tough as nails. But sometimes, real strength is letting go of things. Forget to forgive. Family is so much bigger than love; it’s understanding and forgiveness. We always forgive.

‘O le fa’asāmoa.’

My eyes burn, sodden suddenly and unbounded. I close my eyes against the outpour, and, there, Nana awaits me. My throat catches on a swallow as my regret swirls black. Suka envelopes me then, my tears soaking clear through his white shirt. I feel I’ll forgive forever.

‘Love is sacrifice.’

Weeping, I nod, my nose leaking into Suka’s chest. His thumb etches circles into my arm. I hiccup and heave.

‘Don’t be hard on yourself. You’re right.’

I tip my chin back up to him, cheeks tear-stained and eyebrows raised.

‘You’re growing up too fast. You’re just a young girl. She can’t expect you to know everything.’

I stammer, hasty. He thunders on.

‘You’re just learning who you are — growing into your body.’ He pushes the fringe behind my ear. ‘Look at yourself, Ane.’

My arms tense; his grow firmer.

‘Why should you’, he teases, ‘have to cover up?’

I swallow; he drinks in the shift of my throat. His finger traces my ear down my neck, the path burning vermillion.

His fingers run and hit the fabric of my ‘ie; my stomach plummets. The skin of my throat, ears and chest flares indignant as his flint eyes spark. The itch born of my thigh wakes, crawling like wildfire from the curves of my skull to the hills of my calves. Something acrid scrapes my throat, begging release.

Face burning, my lips part to protest just as his palm slams over my chin and nose, sealing my mouth. He shakes his head slowly, lips pressed tight and eyes gleaming. He breathes heat, wicked fire into my ear.

‘It’s alright, Ane, just be good. Be quiet. This will be so good.’

My lame tongue lies caged to my teeth. I push forward, lifting to throw my weight against him. Off of my own heels. His amusement is unabashed as he traps me onto my feet and pushes us further into the kitchen, squaring me against the counter’s corner. Trapped, my fingers begin to shake on my chest, metronomic.

With every inhale, his bulbous nose hooks up and down. Unkempt brows inch and inch slowly together, smiting his pockmarked forehead. Entranced, his tongue slips lazily between thick, greying rubber lips. As his fingers tear away the ‘ie and shove between my thighs, saliva spills from cigarette-smoked teeth on to me.

I tremble, assessing his face as no one has before, when he beams. He stills, eyes wide and delighted. I’ve pissed myself. He forsakes patience. At this acute pressure, prodded and pushed, every facet of my face weeps. I croak, choke on spit. Lids fallen, my eyes flood, red and dark and pouring. My nose empties endlessly, and I scour the air for breath. I try to tear away, but, as his throat bobs on swallowed pleasure, he holds us together.

I limpen; Suka grows stronger. Hunched over me, his stocky limbs surround me. He grows enormous, and I scream into his thick, calloused hand.

His grip tightens, bruising. He tells me there can be no sound; everyone is asleep.

* 

My mattress lies beneath an opened window. Wind carries in the early bird’s hollow, sad song as the sky washes sweet red. I haven’t slept. I can’t.

The skin of my legs is tacky, slippery and stains my sheets. My ‘ie is sopping, tattered around me. The flesh along my calves is scraped raw. The rest is beneath my nails. I’ve scratched myself to scarring, and he is gone.

In the early light, heavy fingers mindlessly trace tunnels dug around and through the bite; they run deep down my ankles and entangle between my legs. The itch has dulled, but so has everything else. With every breath, I pray for sleep.

Throwing my hip over, I try another position. The movement shoots pain up and through my torso. I twist and twist and twist and catch myself again, weighed down further by sweat-sodden sheets. Yes, I need a new ‘ie.

But every movement is unsteady, and standing alone is a slow burn. My legs can no longer carry their own weight. Gripping furniture and the walls, I trudge forward unthinking. Despite the weight that bids my legs to break, I stride further. I stand taller. Limping and creaking, I am bigger than I have ever been. I walk along framed shadows climbing the hallway walls. I ignore smug silhouettes dancing in my periphery. I am moving as fast as I can, I think, though I am barely moving at all. Nana’s door groans open on a weak push.

I stumble through the threshold. My toe catches on the rug, and I fall. On the hardwood, I stifle a cry as splinters pepper my thighs. Nana’s frowning figure remains unmoving. I push and push again urgently onto battered knees. Like a babe, I crawl the length of her floor. The first licks of sunlight filter through her slatted window, lighting my way.

I still, resting my head against a drawer and gasping for breath. By the time I catch it, tears claim me and streak my cheeks sore. My fingers tremble, chin swinging in soft protest as I withdraw the same drawer I’d slammed shut earlier.

Three little girls’ ‘ie lavalavas in red, blue and yellow. Beside them, one black ‘ie.

The sobbing rips from my throat before I can stop it. But the sun is up, and there is no time to grieve.

I grab the cloth and leave.

* 

Nana’s humming greets me before I’ve even entered the living room. I stroll in to find her perched atop the armchair, reading.

I smile. ‘Morning, Nana.’

She flashes a grin, forgiving and silver toothed. ‘Happier this morning, Ane?’

I nod, moving to sit on the sofa beside her. As I brace my hands against the wicker beneath me, she lowers her book.

‘Have you seen your uncle today? I can’t seem to find him.’

Through the archway connecting us to the kitchen, I glimpse a crimson streak lingering along the edge of the sink. I shrug, turning to face her.

‘Not since cleaning up.’

Skepticism etches the lines of her smile, just before her eyes catch on my ankles. It is ousted immediately by horror. Nana abandons her seat and rushes to cradle my feet, looking up at me.

‘Oi Ane, what happened to you? Tell me what happened to you.’

Legs bared calf down, I falter.

Her warm hands are pulsing with panic, rolling through her fingers and into me. Light catches, refracting over the wet that glasses her eyes, and I bite down. Shaking my head, I know. I’ll play dismissive.

‘Leai se mea, o le gamu.’ Nothing. Just mosquitoes.

Her gasp is almost silent as she jerks upward, suddenly. I flinch. She is solemn, something apologetic as she shakes her head. Gently, she lifts the material of her own ‘ie lavalava.

‘Vaai, Ane, ma a’u fo’i.’ Look, Ane. Me too.

Her tunnels are silver. Silver lines that run up, down, and across the flesh of her legs. Behind the knee. Between her thighs. More. Nana’s scars break and branch more sporadically than mine. Nana’s have been carved much deeper.

I crumble at the sight.

Nana is there, frail hands bracketing my arms to draw me closer. Resting my head on her shoulder, Nana’s sobs rack my chest; she reverberates with mine. We are an echo. We stand here forever. She gives me her forgiveness, and I beg her too: Nana take mine.

Tears break for my lips, cutting the sour taste still there of his flesh and blood. Weeping, I run my tongue over the tip of my sharpest tooth. Salt against the tang of bitter metal.

Nana whispers, deep in my ear. I nearly miss it.

‘I’m so sorry, Ane baby. I tried forever to protect you. E suamalie le ta pa’u.’

Our skin is just too sweet.

2025 Commonwealth Short Story Prize Shortlist